The Third Woman
by GraceBe
Summary: After a mysterious woman from Dickie Merton's past arrives, a lot of lives in Downton's village are changed forever. Last chapter added.
1. Chapter 1

**The Third Woman**

"Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain." ~ Joseph Campbell

December 1926

When Isobel came home from the hospital for tea time, she was surprised to find Dickie not waiting for her in the drawing room as he usually did. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit. It was just one of their small habits that had developed during their first year as a married couple, but she cherished it beyond measure.

The maid told her he was in the garden and so she went outside. Bewildered, she walked around the corner of the house and stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart missed a beat and she swallowed hard. What she saw across the snow-covered lawn caused her a physical pain that only jealousy could cause. It was unfair against her husband to feel like this. He had done nothing to deserve it, on the contrary. He never lied to her, never made her feel unloved or overlooked. She couldn't blame it on him, but she fully blamed on the woman who was talking to him right now.

Annabelle Kent was a proud woman, beautiful and charming – and determined. Soft curls of Annabelle's blond greyish hair had escaped the tidy knot that was hidden under a what must have been very expensive hat that came straight out of Paris. Her tall and in fur wrapped appearance towered over Isobel who wasn't exactly small herself. There was a certain physical resemblance between them that was undeniable. She had witnessed Annabelle's behaviour with growing unease. The way she moved when Dickie was around gave Isobel goosebumps. Annabelle had a way to get a man's attention while the wife looked on and wondered what was happening. But there was something underneath the charme and the beauty. Something much more dangerous.

From the first moment Isobel had laid eyes on her, she had known there was something steely about her. Cousin Violet had felt the same and hadn't been shy to inform Isobel about her concerns. Annabelle was a survivor. She had an enormous inner strength and she knew how get what she wanted. She was widowed and as far as Isobel knew, well off. Her late husband, the owner of a large shipping company had left her a fortune that Annabelle was willing to use to her advantage.

But the worst of all was, there was something between Dickie and Annabelle - the power of a former love - that had Isobel in fear for her marriage.

A very long time ago Dickie and Annabelle had been there for each other when the world had been unkind to them. A past like this created a strong bond and if Isobel wasn't careful, if she allowed this woman to get at her, she would probably lose Dickie. She had fought tooth and nail to save him death and she hadn't done that to lose him to an already forgotten part of his past.

When he saw her Dickie raised his arm and waved. He smiled brightly at her and Isobel returned the smile. Annabelle turned around and her friendly expression froze when she realized his smile was meant for Isobel. Aware that Isobel noticed her unhappy face, Annabelle did nothing to hide to her displeasure about Isobel's appearance.

The truce between the women, if there ever had been one, was over.

'I wished you had stayed in Canada', Isobel thought, as she crossed the grass to meet them. 'I wish you had stayed as far away as possible.'

 ***tbc***


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for kind reviews. I agree, we need more isobel & Dickie stories. Feel free to share yours! :-) **

**Thie story is kind of running away with me, so let me know what you think!**

 **Chapter Two**

 **3 days earlier**

Isobel didn't believe in coincidence and she blamed it on Violet Crawley. After all these years of countless afternoon teas the older woman's merciless look at the world had finally rubbed off on her. Isobel had spent the last hour opposite a woman she had never met before, someone she had instantly mistrusted and disliked. The circumstances reminded her a bit of Amelia, but while Amelia had played the role of the nice and plain daughter-in-law, Annabelle Kent didn't pretend to be someone she wasn't. Annabelle didn't have to pretend anything. She was who she was and Isobel wondered how Annabelle had orchestrated their encounter in the middle of the day in the very centre of York while she and Dickie did their Christmas shopping. They had just left a toy shop where they had bought gifts for the Crawley children when Dickie had stopped in his tracks, because he had detected Annabelle near the contiguous bookshop. Between soft snowfall and the sound of enthusiastic Christmas Carols Dickie had introduced her to Mrs. Kent.

"Isobel, this is Annabelle Kent. She's an old friend of the family."

The old family friend had looked at Dickie as if he were her personal ghost of Christmas Past. In her eyes flickered a mixture of admiration and barely contained attraction. Instinctively Isobel had intensified her grip around his lower arm and had leaned closer against him.

"How very nice to meet you, Mrs. Kent."

This had happened one hour ago and now she was sitting with Annabelle and Dickie at the same table while they shared the afternoon tea.

Isobel only half-listened and faked a smile here and there, while she was busy watching them and trying to understand what exactly it was that connected them. Dickie didn't seem particularly enchanted by her, but his keen interest disturbed Isobel nevertheless. Charming and considerate as always Dickie listened to her story, but it was the mention of Annabelle's daughter that really aroused his curiosity.

"I never knew you had children," he said and Isobel did her best to ignore his not well-hidden astonishment.

"A lot of things can happen in 35 years," Annabelle relied with a coy smile. "Helen's husband, Alain Rouquette, is the new head of the company. He's just marvellous. Have you ever been to Canada, Lady Merton?"

The abrupt change of subject caught Isobel off guard. "No. No, I'm afraid not," she answered quickly.

"The two of you should visit us. It's like Europe… only on another continent."

Dickie laughed. "So I've heard."

"What brings you to England?" Isobel asked. "After all this time?"

Annabelle hesitated with her answer. "I had to take care of some old family business." To answer to Dickie's questioning gaze she added, "My brother died a few months ago. He lived here in York and left no family. There wasn't much to take care of, but I felt the need to come back for one last time." Again she gave Dickie a smile that caused Isobel's blood to freeze. She cleared her throat and reminded Dickie about their invitation at the Abbey this evening.

"You're so right, Darling," he agreed and suggested, "Annabelle, why don't you come to Downton and visit us at Crawley House?"

"Crawley House?" Annabelle asked. "What about Cavenham?"

"Larry and his wife are living there," Dickie explained, avoiding eye contact with Annabelle for the first time.

"Larry was your oldest, wasn't he?" Annabelle asked.

"Yes."

"I take it he's still very much Ada's boy."

"He is," Dickie confirmed. "And I'm afraid we must go now." Disturbed by Annabelle's last remark and relieved the meeting was over, Isobel bid Annabelle goodbye.

On their way back to the car, Dickie didn't say a word and Isobel decided not to ask any questions before she was sure how to phrase them.

* * *

After their return from dinner at the Abbey, Isobel and Dickie settled down by the fireplace in the drawing room. The snow fall had intensified during the last couple of hours and Isobel welcomed the warmth of her home. Tired by the events of the day she removed her shoes and took the brandy Dickie had poured for with a grateful smile.

"So when will you tell me more about you and Mrs Kent?" She asked, after Dickie had settled down next to her. She snuggled up against him and rested her head against his shoulder.

"What do you want to know?" He asked in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.

"Everything you don't want to tell me," Isobel answered bluntly.

Dickie laughed, but it was a bit humourless. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I'm not sure it is a story I wish to share with anyone."

A shiver ran over her spine and she swallowed. His steady reluctance to talk about Annabelle scared her. And every time she got scared, she became stubborn. "I am your wife," she said. "I had to sit with her at the same table and you invited her into our house without asking me. I think I deserve the truth."

"Of course, I see your point, but I wish you would see mine too," he said. "There are things in life no man wants to share with his wife."

"Try me. I'm not like every wife."

He chuckled. "That's true." He reached out and his hand came to rest on her thigh.

"Please," she begged him quietly. "She was your mistress, wasn't she?"

He frowned and removed his hand from her leg.

"I'm afraid that description wouldn't do any of us justice."

The deliberate lack of physical contact made her uncomfortable and she swallowed. "So, how would you describe it?" She asked.

"I would say, we've been very close for a long time."

"A long time?" Suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. Her chest felt too small to tame the racing heart within it. With every rushed heartbeat an unexplainable fear spread within her whole body.

"Tell me about her," she demanded against her better judgement.

Dickie sighed and gave in. "I've met her when I was 18," he explained. "My father thought it was my time to become a man. She was 16 and both of us were afraid of what would happen once we were alone."

He fell silent and finished his brandy.

"She was a prostitute?" Isobel asked, almost unable not to laugh. She remembered her own crusade for fallen women. For Ethel, her own housemaid. Annabelle was another, and much better example for a woman who had fought her way out of a brothel and into society. Annabelle, the survivor, the fighter. Annabelle commanded respect from her - and Isobel hated her all the more for it.

"Yes. Are you disappointed in me?" He asked, fear clouding his voice.

"I guess a lot of young men made the same experience in their youth," she said and it sounded like something she had said a thousand times before. "The question is, for how long did you return to her - and why?"

"I'm afraid it went on till after Larry was born. Ada and I married because our parents wanted us to. We were ill-matched from the very beginning, but neither of our families cared. It was more of a contract than an honest exchange of vows. We tried our best, but after the boys were born we practically lived two different lives. And we did so until she died."

With her heart now racing in her chest and her brain overworking Isobel said nothing and waited for him to continue. She had never questioned him about his marriage before, perhaps because she had been afraid he could tell her that there had been indeed another woman in his life. The certainty of her worst fears being confirmed was not easy to stomach.

"By that time Annabelle was working in a tea shop in Ripon. She later bought the place. As far as I know she met her husband that way."

"I see… you helped her, didn't you?"

He shrugged. "I did my best to be of help. She deserved to have a good life."

"Did you love her?" She asked, staring into the flames. He reached out to take her hand into his. He squeezed it gently and said, "Yes, but not as I've loved you. I've never loved anyone the way I love you."

"I wish you had told me about this before."

"Whatever for? I haven't seen this woman in over 35 years."

"And yet she's here."

"And she'll leave again," he said. With a gentle touch he touched her chin and made her face him.

"There's nothing you have to be afraid of. Just get to know her."

Isobel wanted to argue that she had every reason to be afraid, but she felt too exhausted to phrase her worries.

"I think I need to go to bed now," she said instead. She handed him her brandy and picked up her shoes.

"I'll be right with you," he said, as he watched her leaving the room. She didn't answer and once the door closed, she leaned against it, wondering why she felt betrayed.

 ***tbc***


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The next day

"I have to admit that the saying 'Silent waters run deep' applies far more often than people think." After Isobel had given Violet an account of their encounter with Mrs Kent and Dickie's history with her, the Dowager was appropriately taken aback. The strange rules of aristocratic marriages was still a mystery to her and she had spent little time to think about them - until Dickie's story had forced her to.

"Don't tell me you never heard rumours about Dickie and Ada's marriage," Isobel retorted.

"Gossip!" Violet made a dismissive gesture and picked up her cup. "Everyone knew Ada was an awful battle-axe. So, no one would have blamed him anyway - if they had known," she added quickly. "I guess Dickie was discreet enough, and as long as you're discreet you can do as you please."

Isobel didn't find Violet's words in the least reassuring.

"I'm not concerned about the past at this point. What worries me is the present and the future."

Exasperated Violet put her cup down. "Do you actually think he would consider…?" She broke off when she saw Isobel's warning gaze. "Isobel, the man is over the heels in love with you! He adores the ground you walk on. You can do no wrong in his eyes, which is quite annoying at times."

Isobel moved uncomfortable on her chair, for a change oblivious to Violet's snarky remark. "You know what they say about old love. What if what we have isn't enough?"

Violet frowned, "You pretty much brought the man back from the land of the dead. I doubt he's interested in a former mistress he hasn't seen in ages."

"But she's interested in him," Isobel said. "And as you just said, he doesn't need me anymore. He's a picture of good health."

Violet was shocked. "I thought the days when you behaved like a coward because of him are over."

"I'm not a coward" Isobel declared offended. "I'm realistic."

Violet shook her head, "I agree that Mrs Kent needs to be watched carefully, but you don't have to offer her your husband on a silver platter."

"So, what do you suggest?"

Violet rose, grabbed her walking stick, and moved over to her desk. While she opened the drawer to find her address book, she said, "I'll write some letters and try to find out more about the infamous Mrs Kent. And in the meantime you'll make sure your husband is spending time with you - instead of her."

"Easier said than done," Isobel said. "She's coming for tea tomorrow afternoon." Horrified by the idea of having to sit with Annabelle at the same table again, Isobel sighed.

Violet just shrugged and placed her little black book on the table next to her plate. "Plenty of time to remind him of his priorities."

And on that encouraging thought Isobel finished her tea. It was cold.

* * *

When Dickie entered their bedroom that night, he found Isobel sitting at her dressing table. She was busy combing her silver-golden hair and didn't seem to notice him entering.

"It started snowing again," he reported and put the book her had brought with him onto his bedside cabinet. Her uncharacteristic non-reaction startled him. He watched her closely while she absent-mindedly started to braid her hair. With a smile he approached her and bent down to kiss her cheek. She startled as if she hadn't noticed him before. She lowered her arms and gave him a feeble smile.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love your hair?" he asked and ran his fingers through the queue of gold and silver strands, ruining her unfinished task.

"I think every day of our marriage," she answered with a chuckle.

"Good. I would hate not to mention it at least once a day," he said quietly and took her hand. He gently pulled her up and locked his arms around her.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You've been awfully quiet today."

"I'm fine," she lied. "I just have a lot on my mind."

He sighed and hesitated before he continued, "I was afraid you would say that. Listen, I've made a decision…"

"Yes?"

"I've written to Annabelle this afternoon while you were at Lady Grantham's. I cancelled our plans for tea."

Isobel was aghast. "But why?"

"I've realized the idea made you uncomfortable and I don't want you to feel that way."

"Oh Dickie!" Suddenly overjoyed she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"How did you explain our cancellation?" she asked, when she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I wrote something about a sudden change of plans."

"She will know it's a lie," she said.

"I know, but I think it's best that way." He ran his hand tenderly along her back and kissed her hair.

Relieved she drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I love you very much, do you know that?"

She sensed how he smiled. "I love you, too, Isobel Grey. I love you, too."

* * *

Two days later

After Isobel had recovered from the shock of finding Mrs Kent and Dickie together in her wintery garden together, she felt forced to offer Annabelle Kent a cup of tea. To her surprise Annabelle declined.

"Thank you, but I just came in to say hello. I want to be back in York before it starts snowing again." The cold finalty in her words convinced Isobel to forget her English hospitality.

Her eyes wandered quickly from Dickie to Annabelle and back. She noticed that Dickie was avoiding Annabelle and made no effort to invite her in. He seemed pretty withdrawn into himself and had established a safe distance between himself and his surprise guest. Apparently he wasn't happy with whatever had just occurred between them and Isobel started hoping this was the last she would ever see of Annabelle Kent.

"Of course. The weather is quite unpredictable these days," Isobel said.

"You can say that again."

The wind was freshening up again and first flakes of snow started dancing around their heads. An uncomfortable silence fell between the trio that could have easily become an embarrassment, if the front door hadn't opened. Dickie's valet, dressed only in his thin livree hastened towards them with clattering teeth.

"There's a telephone call for you, Mylord. It's Lord Grantham."

"Oh, thank you." Dickie said, apparently relieved to have a reason to get away from the women.

"I must be going then," Annabelle said and gave Dickie a smile. "It was nice to see you again. Goodbye."

Dickie just nodded at her and vanished inside the house, his valet on his heels.

"So he told you everything about us?" The question was rhetoric and Isobel didn't dignify with an answer. "Did you make him cancel our appointment?" Annabelle asked.

"No. That was his idea, but I can't say I was angry about it."

Annabelle gave Isobel a dismissive smile, "That's what I thought."

"I think it's best you wouldn't come back here," Isobel said, trying her best not to sound too unkind.

Annabelle nodded, "Of course you would think that. I'm just afraid it won't be that easy for you to get rid off me."

"I beg your pardon?" There was it again, the sudden inkling that had first befallen her, when she had seen Annabelle for the first time. Isobel couldn't be sure if she heard triumph or desperation in Annabelle's voice, because the harsh wind was howling in her ears.

"You better follow him inside and give him a big whiskey. I'm afraid he needs it. I just told him that he's the father of my daughter."

 **~tbc~**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for your kind comments. Enjoy the next chapter and let me know if you can keep up with my overworking brain! LOL**

 **Chapter Four**

Isobel found Dickie sitting in Matthew's old study. After Dickie's move in they had refurnished the room and Dickie had brought the bigger part of his Cavenham library and his desk with him. Aside from the drawing room where they usually spent their evenings together, the library was his favourite room in Crawley House. It was his safe haven and Isobel barely disturbed him in here. Tonight she had to make an exception. Annabelle's bombshell had hit her like a steam engine. If she felt betrayed and hurt by Annabelle's revelation, how must Dickie feel? He hated conflict and lies more than anything else. Aside from the huge shock, Isobel tried to understand what had happened and why. Why would Annabelle tell him about a love child at this point in their lives? What did she have to gain from such an outrageous admission?

Isobel closed the door softly behind her and crossed the room. Dickie sat behind his desk, an open carafe and an empty glass in front of him. The smell of Whiskey hung in the air.

"Are you all right?" she asked. She stepped behind his chair and placed her hands on his shoulders. She felt the tension beneath the fabric of his jacket and gave him a gentle squeeze.

"I don't know," he admitted flatly. "What did she tell you?"

"She told me, you're the father of her daughter. Is it true?"

Dickie groaned and rubbed his forehead. "I wish I knew."

"Do you believe her?" she asked, her heart missing a beat while she waited for his answer.

"Let's say she never lied to me before." Lost in his thoughts he picked up the letter up his favourite pen and turned it between his fingers.

"Does she ask for money?" Isobel asked.

"Money… If it only were that easy." He sighed, put the pen aside, and reached out to take her hand.

"What else does she want?" She still feared Annabelle was trying to rekindle her relationship with Dickie. What if not a common child could be her perfect excuse to get close to him again?

"I'm afraid the story is far more complicated than one can expect it."

"And what do you mean by that?" Puzzled, she freed her hand and circled the chair. She leaned against the edge of the desk and watched him closely. She hadn't seen him this unhappy since the day he had told her about his misdiagnosed illness.

"I'm all ears," she said, when she saw him struggling for an answer. "You can tell me everything."

He gave her an admiring smile, "I keep forgetting how strong you are."

"And if you go on scaring me like this, Mrs Kent will be at the receiving end of my strength," she said and drew a deep breath. "Because if she thinks some sorry tale about a love child will rout me…" She never finished her statement, because Dickie rose and took her hands into his.

"This isn't about me, my Darling, at least not the way, you think. Annabelle's asked for my help, because she's afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of losing her daughter when she learns the truth about her true parentage." Dickie offered Isobel his chair and said, "I think it's best you sat down. If you ever wondered how messed up our family is, you'll be in for another, quite unplesant surprise."

* * *

 **The next day**

"I think, I need to sit down," the Dowager said. Isobel couldn't remember a time when she had seen Violet being actually speechless, but it seemed the moment had come.

Violet sank into her armchair by the fireplace. Isobel could tell her shock was real and so she gave her friend a moment to recover.

"Should I ring for Spratt?" Isobel offered. "He could bring us some tea."

"Please, do so."

By the time Spratt had left the drawing room, Violet was her old self again.

"I have to admit that family of yours is giving the Crawleys a run for their money," Violet said. "Between all the mischief Mary and Rose have come up with over the years the Greys take the biscuit."

Isobel nodded, but she couldn't share Violet's barely hidden delight. After what Dickie had told her last night it wasn't just a scandal that was looming over their heads. It was also a tragedy that could cause a lot of bad blood between Dickie and his oldest son Larry. The relationship between Dickie and his sons had been strained for decades and after Dickie's wedding to Isobel the contact between the three men had broken off almost completely. Until this day Isobel had spent less than three family dinners with her step-children and neither of them mourned the infrequency of their family meetings.

"What does Dickie say to all of this?" Violet asked.

Isobel shrugged. "He's shocked, but prepared to do what's necessary."

The Dowager seemed almost impressed. "What an undertaking! When will he talk to Larry and even more important how much will he tell him?"

"As a matter of fact, he's talking to Larry right now," Isobel explained. "I sneaked out of the house to allow them some privacy."

"If I were you I would rather be a fly at the wall. If the late Lady Merton had been more of a fly at the wall, none of this would have happened."

Isobel huffed. "I doubt Ada was bothered by any of it. The life they led was horrible."

Spratt came in, armed with a filled tray and the two women interrupted their conversation until he had left the room again.

"I'm still waiting for my letters to be answered," Violet reported as she filled Isobel's cup with tea.

"I'm very grateful, but I don't think it'll be of much use," Isobel said. "I mean we know the truth now - or at least Mrs. Kent told us her version of it."

"Don't throw the towel just yet," Violet smirked. "A woman like Mrs Kent must have more skeletons in her closet than just one. It can't hurt to find out what else she's hiding from us."

"That's quite grim," Isobel shuttered.

"It's the romantic in me," Violet said dryly and sipped her tea.

* * *

In Crawley House Larry Grey was pacing the drawing room like a caged tiger. Dickie was standing at the window and stared outside into the falling snow.

"I don't know what exactly it is you're suggesting, Father, but it's ridiculous!" Larry barked.

"Is it ridiculous?" Dickie returned the question without facing his son. "I don't intend to intrude myself into your marriage, but…"

"Then you shouldn't!" Larry hissed.

"But Amelia is carrying your first child," Dickie continued unimpressed by Larry's demeanour. "An extramarital affair with another woman is not what she deserves in her condition."

"What do you know about Amelia or about me?" Larry asked. "And whoever told you about my so called affair is lying."

Finally Dickie turned around to face his oldest son. Larry's usually pale complexion had vanished. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittered. Larry was lying and Dickie knew it.

"I doubt I was told a lie," Dickie said. "I know you too well, Larry."

"Do you?" Larry bit his lip.

"Your marriage to Amelia isn't what you hoped for, is it?" Dickie asked, knowing he was right. "But as things are you're stuck with her. Just as I was stuck…"

"With my mother," Larry finished Dickie's sentence. The bitterness flooding out of the younger man was palpable, causing Dickie to flinch.

"Don't ruin Amelia or Helen Rouquette's life by making the mistake a lot of other men in our position made," Dickie said, struggling to keep up his act.

"How do you know her name?" Larry asked perplexed.

"I told you I have my sources." Cursing himself for the mention of Annabelle's daughter's name, Dickie avoided his sons' piercing eyes.

"This conversation is over and I suggest we never mention it again." Larry stormed to the door and opened it. "Give my best to Isobel... Come to think about it, don't."

 **~tbc~**


	5. Chapter 5

**Did the last chapter confuse you? I'm sorry if it did, but that was the intention... ;-) Enjoy the next installment!**

 **Chapter Five**

When Isobel returned to Crawley House she saw Larry Grey leaving in his car. The tires were spinning on the slippery road and she had the dark hunch that things had not gone well between father and son. She wasn't surprised about it, but she still wished for Dickie's sake that one day the relationship with his children would improve.

She found him in the drawing room where he was still standing near the window. He was staring outside. He was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice her entrance.

"Dickie?" she asked softly, as she stepped behind him. "I saw Larry leaving. What happened?"

"Not much," Dickie admitted gravely. "As always my son refuses to listen to me. Maybe it is what I deserve."

"And what do you mean by that?" Her hands wrapped around his lower arm as she leaned against him.

"I'm a selfish coward, Isobel, do you know that?"

"That's not true," she objected.

"Oh, it is true. I should have told him the truth, but I lied to his face. I just didn't have the courage to admit my own failures."

Isobel took his hand and squeezed it. "Well, what did you tell him?"

"I told him to put a hold on his affair with Helen - for Amelia's sake. I told him to think about his family. At first he denied the whole affair, but I know now what Annabelle told me is not a lie. I saw it in his eyes."

Isobel's hope that at least a part of Annabelle's story could have been a misunderstanding or an exaggeration had just vanished into thin air, but she did her best to put on a brave face.

"I can't believe that from all the women Larry has met so far he picked the one who's his half-sister. How absurd does that sound?" she asked dryly.

"Do you believe in fate?" he asked in return.

"Not really," she admitted. She had always believed in self-care and honesty.

"Me neither until today. I guess, in the end you reap what you saw."

It hurt her to hear him talking like this. She wrapped her arms around his upper body and pulled him against her. "Look, we'll find a way to deal with this. I'm your wife and we'll do this together. I'm willing to put up another fight with Larry, if necessary."

A doubtful expression crossed his face. "As much as I appreciate your concern and your support, this isn't your problem. I was the one who cheated on the mother of my children and I'm the one who has to bear the consequences." Gentle but determined he freed himself from her. "Excuse me, but I think I want to skip dinner tonight. I'm not hungry."

Against her better judgement she let him leave the room. She knew he was someone who needed his privacy to come to terms with whatever troubled him, but standing at the sidelines wasn't in her nature. It broke her heart to see him suffer and she knew she had to do something.

* * *

After spending a rather sleepless night next to her sleepless husband, Isobel decided to go to York. As much as she dreaded the idea to talk to Mrs Kent, she saw that she had no other choice.

Sensing Dickie wouldn't be happy with her plan, she told him she would go to Ripon to do some errands, but he was barely listening to her while he pondered over his morning paper. She hated lying to her husband, but her gut told her she was doing the right thing. What had the Dowager once told her? 'Never let tenderness be a bar to a bit of snooping. Never.'

Luckily Isobel remembered Annabelle talking about her accomodation in the Royal Hotel in York when she and Dickie had run into her. At least she didn't have to make a paper chase across town to find her.

On their way to York it had started snowing again and Isobel registered with growing concern that it didn't look as if the weather would improve any time soon. She had to hurry, if she wanted to be back in Downton before the roads became impassable and she had stay in York for at least the upcoming night.

Uncomfortable with the task ahead, Isobel told her driver to wait and entered the luxurious and busy foyer of the hotel. At the reception she asked for Annabelle in was in for a disappointment.

"I'm afraid Mrs Kent has left the house over an hour ago," the young receptionist told her, much to her dismay.

"Did she say when she will be back?"

"No, Ma'am, I'm afraid not. Do you want to leave a message for her?"

Isobel hesitated. If she had been sensible, she would have written to Annabelle in the first place. Now she had gone through this terrible weather for nothing. While Isobel contemplated her options a woman in her thirties approached her. Isobel noticed her in the corner of her eye and knew instantly who she was. Her red, flamboyant coat was matched with a fitting broad-brimmed hat and the way she moved reminded her of Annabelle. The biggest difference in appearance to Annabelle was the colour of her daughter's hair and her eyes.

"Excuse me," the woman said, her voice coloured by a soft french-canadian accent. "Did you just ask for Mrs Kent?"

"I did," Isobel confirmed, absorbing every detail about the young woman who Cousin Violet would describe as 'too tall for find a man'.

"I'm her daughter Helen Rouquette. I'm afraid she has an appointment and won't be back until this afternoon."

"Oh well…." Unsure what to say Isobel shifted from one foot onto the other. "My visit was a spontaneous idea. You see, your mother and I met a few days ago…"

Helen's face suddenly brightened up and she interrupted Isobel. "Are you Lady Merton?"

"Yes, I am…."

"Mother told me about you! How nice of you to visit her! I'm just so sorry she isn't here."

Genuinely perplexed by Helen's kindness, Isobel was a speechless and tried to sort out her impressions. "As I said, it was meant as a surprise. Your mother didn't mention you the last time we spoke. I had no idea you were here."

"Oh, I arrived last night. She didn't know I was coming…" Helen broke off and Isobel noticed how her cheeks coloured. "It was meant as a surprise. I'm visiting some old friends who live nearby."

"I see." Isobel gave her a smile and the way Helen smiled back at her suddenly reminded her about Dickie.

"Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?" Helen asked. "I just came back and could use a little refreshment."

Isobel looked at the big clock over the reception. It was almost twelve o'clock. Due to the snowy weather conditions and her bad planning she would miss luncheon anyway and so she took the invitation.

"Why not?"

Helen gave her a warm smile. "Perfect! There's a wonderful tea room right across the street."

* * *

Two hours later Isobel was back on her way to Downton. Unfortunately the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The wind beat the snow over the already icy streets and the chauffeur struggled with the speed of the car under the conditions.

As productive and interesting her encounter with Helen had been as bad was Isobel's conscious concerning Dickie. He must be waiting for her by now. She wished she had telephoned Crawley House before she had left York, but she had simply forgotten about it, because she had been too excited about the results of her conversation with Helen. In retrospect it was an advantage that she had run into her instead of meeting with Annabelle herself. Pretty sure that the Dowager would be proud of her investigative skills, Isobel tried to relax while the car moved jiggly along the road.

* * *

When the clock in the drawing room struck three o'clock in the afternoon Dickie was ready to call the police. He hadn't heard from Isobel since she had left the house and after a short and rather unpleasant conversation with one of the maids he knew Isobel had gone to York instead of Ripon.

A worried look out of the window promised him nothing good. It had been snowing for hours. Before luncheon he had taken a short walk through the village and had met one of his tenants. The man had told him many roads were impassable by now.

If he had only demanded she stayed at home. He groaned, scolding himself. Knowing her she wouldn't have listened to him anyway. She was stubborn as a mule and when she set her mind on something she was reckless. Surely she had gone to York to talk to Annabelle. A thought that made him more uneasy than he wanted to admit. It unnerved beyond measure to imagine both women sitting at the same table, sharing stories about him. And what unnerved him even more was the idea that something had happened to Isobel.

In the hallway he heard the front door opening and footsteps.

"Thank God!" he mumbled to himself and rushed to the door. To his disappointment it wasn't Isobel who was standing there, head and shoulders covered in with snow. It was Sergeant Willis.

"Pardon me, my Lord," Willis said as she wiped the snow from his shoulder.

"Sergeant Willis, what brings you here?" Dickie asked, visibly tense.

"I'm afraid I have bad news," the policeman said. "There was an accident and your car was involved."

Dickie felt how he became pale. "Oh my God. Where's Lady Merton?"

"That's just it, my Lord. She's in the hospital. Doctor Clarkson's asked me to get you."

 **~~~ tbc~~~**

 **Let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

With his coat open and despite the freezing temperatures outside and a gasping Sergeant Willis on his heels Dickie entered the hospital in desperate search for Isobel. Willis had tried to assure him that she wasn't badly injured, but he needed to see with his own eyes that she was all right. With his mind fixed on his wife Dickie almost ran down Dr Clarkson who just came out of a treatment room. He was wearing a blood-clotted apron and wiped his hands in a towel.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor," Dickie apologized half-heartedly. "Where's Lady Merton."

"She's in my office," Clarkson answered and added quickly. "She's fine - well, more or less. It's your driver that causes me worry."

"What about him?" Dickie asked aghast. He had completely forgotten about his chauffeur and instantly felt a sting of guilt.

"I'm not sure. Seems he has at least two broken ribs. One bone might have penetrated his right lung, but we don't know that for sure yet. We have to make an x-ray first."

"Oh my God. Please, do whatever you can and keep me posted!"

Without waiting for a reply he stormed off. Willis, suddenly feeling redundant and still out of breathe, stayed behind and exchanged a dumbfounded gaze with a passing nurse.

Just as Clarkson had told him, Dickie found Isobel in the Doctor's office. Flustered and with her right foot bouncing on the floor, she was sitting in a chair.

"Isobel!"

"Dickie!"

She wanted to rose onto her feet, but he rushed to her and carefully pushed her back into her chair. He pulled a second chair next to hers and sank down. With uneasiness he checked out her appearance. She was pale and there was fresh cut and a bruise on her forehead. Her right wrist was bandaged and as he touched her other hand he noticed how cold her skin felt.

"How are you feeling?" he asked concerned.

"I'm fine, well, I will be," she answered, but her voice was shaking. "Doctor Clarkson says my wrist is sprained. It's poor Proctor I'm worried about."

"They will do whatever they can," Dickie said, knowing it was only a small comfort. "What were you thinking? Going to York in this weather?"

He immediately regretted his question when he saw how crestfallen she looked. "I wanted to talk to Mrs Kent," she admitted. "I didn't even plan to stay away for so long, but then I met Helen and…"

"You met Helen?" he cut her off. "She's here? I mean in England?"

"Yes," Isobel confirmed, eager to tell him about her encounter with the young woman who, she was convinced of, was his daughter. "I had tea with her and…"

"You had tea with her?" he asked in utter disbelief.

"Yes… Oh Dickie, I'm so sorry! I should have told you, but you were so unhappy that I wanted to do something."

Overwhelmed by his love for her he stroked her cheek and kissed her mouth. His anger about her single-handed actions faded like snow in the sunshine. She leaned against him and he ran his mouth over her face up to her uninjured temple.

"I love you," he whispered gently. "But no excursions on icy streets anymore!"

"I'll try to remember that," she said, causing him to chuckle.

"Can I take you home now? Or does Clarkson want to run any more tests?"

She shook her head. "I'm free to leave."

"Good." He offered her his arm and together they left the Hospital to go back to Crawley House.

* * *

Later that evening after Isobel had taken a bad hot and had a light supper she lay in her bed, torn between physical exhaustion and inner unrest. She was rereading the letter she had tried to write, but felt she was too tired to finish it tonight. Her whole body was aching, especially her sprained wrist, but the events of the day kept repeating themselves in her head over and over again.

So far she hadn't told Dickie anything about her meeting with Helen, because he insisted she took her rest, but she feared he was still shocked about the fact that his daughter was not in Canada, but actually in York and therefore much closer than he had expected. Helen's presence certainly complicated the matter. Certain that Larry was the real reason for Helen's sudden presence in England, Isobel realized that the time to think about a way to separate the lovers for good was running out. Isobel accepted it was hard for Dickie to come to terms with the recent developments, but his personal sensitivity on the matter couldn't play a part in this.

She heard footsteps in the hallway and Dickie's hushed voice as he spoke to his valet to bid him good night. She quickly hid the written pages under the covers and waited for him to enter the bedroom. He had changed for the night and carried two glasses of brandy.

"I'm not sure it's what the doctor ordered, but I thought you may want one," he said as he put the glass on her bedside cabinet.

She gave him a grateful smile and took his hand. "Why don't you sit down?"

He did as asked and made a toast. "To you - my reckless wife."

"Don't make fun of me!" she scolded him and he gave her kiss on the cheek.

"Clarkson telephoned a few minutes ago," he reported when he pulled back. "Proctor's been out of surgery. He'll about and about in a few weeks. He was lucky."

"Thank God!" she drew a deep breath and took a big sip from her brandy. A bit relieved she leaned back into her pillow. The alcohol had the warming effect she had hoped for.

"And before Clarkson called, I talked to Tom. He and Henry towed away the car. Tomorrow he'll know if it can be repaired. I guess, it's quite handy to have a car dealer in family after all."

Despite the good news, Isobel didn't feel like joking. "I feel like a fool," she admitted. "But in a way it was almost worth it."

Uneasy with the upcoming subject, he swallowed and avoided her eyes. Sensing the moment had come, she put her glass aside and leaned forward. "I think you should meet Helen."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I think it is like it is," she said gently. "You'll be pleased to hear that Helen is quite nice. Actually, she's very witty and charming. I like her."

"Do you?" he couldn't hide his surprise.

"Yes. She's everything Larry isn't, so I'm not sure what she sees in him - not that we talked about him," she added quickly when she saw his horrified expression on his face.

Dickie returned her remark with a groan. "I don't even want to think about it!"

"I know, but unfortunately we have to and we have to do so soon. Imagine Larry decides he wants to leave Amelia… what if Helen gets pregnant?"

"Don't you forget the tiny fact that Helen is married as well?" he asked back.

"That's just it… what Annabelle didn't tell you is that Helen's husband is about 30 years older than she is. Helen didn't say it that explicitly, but her marriage is more one of convenience than of love. Annabelle's husband arranged the wedding, because he wanted to make sure his company is in safe hands after his death. Listen, I'm not sure what kind of game Annabelle is playing, but she's the one who's been reckless here. I'm sure she's hiding something."

"Perhaps it's my fault. I didn't give her any chance to explain herself, after she told me…"

"Well, in that case she could have made the effort to explain herself better than she has," Isobel argued and added, "And I'm not just saying this, because I'm jealous."

The admission brought a smile onto his face. "Are you?"

She lowered her eyes, almost sheepishly. "I am… just as any wife would be who learns that her husband's former lover is in town."

"I'll try to take that as a compliment that's meant to boost my fragile ego."

"You may…"

He leaned in to kiss her. First softly and then with growing desire, but afraid he would drop the subject completely if she allowed them to get carried away, she broke the kiss. "Will you meet her?"

He sighed, but as she had hoped, it was a sign of surrender, "Why do I have this feeling that you already made a plan I have no say in?"

She gave him a smile and kissed his lips. "You know me so well."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what you suggest..."

"I think it's time we gave a little dinner party...for your old family friend, Mrs Kent and her daughter."

He gave her a puzzled look, "Are you serious?"

"Yes, and I'm sure Cousin Violet will be happy to join us…"

"Lady Grantham?" He looked at her as if she had suggested he climbed the Himalaya in nothing but his dressing robe.

"You can't be serious! She'll have a field day! She'll rub it "

Isobel chuckled. "She probably will, but she won't tell anyone about it."

"Just tell me you haven't already written the invitations."

She bit her lip, tried not to chuckle, and showed him the written pages she had hidden under the covers.

"I'm afraid with my sprained wrist my handwriting isn't the best… Perhaps you could write them? Tomorrow?"

"You grant me one night of reprieve?" he asked and took the pages from her. He read them with narrowed eyes and shook his head when he had finished.

"Only because I want you to come to bed with me right now," she said and lifted the blanket on his side of the bed. Gladly accepting the invitation he slipped under the covers and welcomed her with open arms, as she snuggled up against him.

"You have cold feet," he informed her.

"I hoped you could warm me up," she said and kissed him.

"I'll do my very best, Isobel Grey."

***tbc***

I hope you enjoyed this after all the angst I put you through ;-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The next day

"I must say, I am very curious to meet Mrs Kent," Violet admitted when Isobel told her about her plans. The news about the accident had quickly travelled from the Abbey to the Dower House and despite the terrible weather Violet had walked over from the Dower House to see how her friend was. To her relief her worry had been needless. After a good night's rest Isobel was (against Dickie's advice) up and about and had already discussed the details about the upcoming dinner party with her cook, Mrs Fields.

"I just wonder what you want to accomplish," the Dowager added. "I mean I can understand you want Dickie to meet his daughter, but wouldn't it be wiser to leave Mrs Kent out in the cold?" Violet pretended to shudder.

"Well, it wouldn't make a lot of sense to invite Helen who we don't know, but not her mother, wouldn't it?" Isobel asked.

"Why don't you just go to York to meet Helen there?"

Isobel shrugged. "I think, it's better to receive them here."

Violet smirked knowingly, "I see…. You plan to beat Mrs Kent on your own turf and you want to use Helen as a weapon against her mother in case she plans to win back her former… benefactor. What happened to your fear of losing your husband to his former mistress?"

Feeling she was being seen through, Isobel pursed her lips. "Let's say, I believe that an attack is the best form of defence. That's why I want you here that evening."

"Your wish is my command," Violet said with a delighted chuckle. "What does your husband say to your plan?"

"He knows it's the right thing to do," Isobel answered vaguely.

"In other words he only agreed to keep you satisfied." Violet's dry remark didn't miss its purpose.

"Listen, Cousin Violet, I know what I'm doing," Isobel replied snappy.

"I never doubted that, my dear, I just wonder if you have contemplated all the variables in your calculation, one of them being Larry Grey."

"We'll see about that, when the time has come," Isobel answered and the defiance in her voice told Violet the discussion was finished - for now.

* * *

Upstairs in his library Dickie was looking through several boxes he had brought with him when he moved out of Cavenham Park. They contained everything private he didn't want Larry and Amelia to get their hands on: letters, diaries of Ada and himself, and old photographs. He had never been someone who dwelled on the past, but he couldn't deny that looking at some of the old pieces made him mawkish. Hidden in one of his old note books he found a photograph of Annabelle and another one from his first wedding day. He groaned by the memory of the hot spring day that had been the beginning of an unhappy marriage.

Ada had insisted on having a big country wedding while he had prefered to keep it as simple as possible. Back in the day Dickie had still been in love with Annabelle and the mere thought of marrying someone else had felt like a neverending nightmare. In the end he hadn't been left with much of a choice and had gone through with Ada and his family's wishes.

His bride had been the daughter of an old friend of his father. The late Baron Merton feared Dickie would never produce an heir and had forced the engagement between Ada and his son. Ada's father, the owner of a bank, also provided a considerable amount of money as marriage portion. Dickie, feeling to obliged to do what his family expected of him, had agreed to marry Ada in the vain hope whatever they had would be enough to share a good life together.

He had always known how socially unacceptable it were for a man of his breeding to marry a woman with a past like Annabelle, but as the wedding day had come closer, he found it impossible to give up on Annabelle just like that. Even when he had spoken his vows, his mind and heart had been occupied with the woman who hadn't been his bride and today he was sure Ada must had known he had loved someone else. Back then he hadn't wasted a second thought on Ada and her feelings, something he regretted today.

Shortly after their honeymoon Ada had become pregnant, but things had gone quickly downhill from there. His newly wed wife had told him quite frankly she wished he would seek love and comfort in any bed but hers and he had done as she asked - until Annabelle had been the one to end their relationship, because she wanted to get married herself. She had met a considerable rich man who had offered to marry her on the spot in the very business Dickie had once invested in to allow her a more comfortable and fulfilling life.

He had no idea if the other man had ever known he wasn't the father of Annabelle's child or not. It didn't matter. What mattered to Dickie was that Annabelle had robbed him off the daughter he had always wanted to have. Perhaps the reason of his fondness for his godchild Mary rooted in the missing of the girl he never had the chance to raise.

As emotionally draining as his former double life with Annabelle had been, he would given his right arm to have the chance to be a real father. Ada had always made sure he wouldn't see much of his sons and had raised them as her creatures.

Especially after Larry's birth Ada had hardened herself against the world. Her firstborn son had become the centre of her world and that had remained so until the day of her death. She had spoiled him beyond measure and hadn't done him any favour in doing so. Larry had never grown up and Dickie feared he never would. Larry was a victim of his insecurities and his spoiled upbringing. He had more hope for Tim, but even his younger son was often arrogant and unwilling to rise to the challenges life had in store. These days his diplomatic post had transferred him to Washington D.C. and Dickie hoped the new world made a better man of him.

He felt a strange sting in his heart while he looked at the photographs. It was as if he explored a strange man's life, not his own. He remembered his feelings for Annabelle with sentimental sensation, even remembered his blind, youthful desire for her, but none of his faded feelings for her matched the love he felt for Isobel.

He knew it wasn't fair against her, but he feared Annabelle's presence could eventually damage what he had built with Isobel and he didn't want to risk any of it. As much as he appreciated Isobel's wish to introduce him to his daughter, he feared her plan could backfire on all of them.

With a loud sigh he closed the notebook and hid it underneath Adas' diaries. Some memories better stayed buried in the past.

* * *

Two days later

When Dickie entered the bedroom Isobel had just finished dressing. She had chosen a dress he had never noticed on her before. A stunning piece made a blue and black velvet that went perfectly with a string of black pearls he had given her for her last birthday. She had even taken off the bandage, even though her wrist was still hurting, but she had no wish to appear infirm in front of Annabelle.

"Do I know that dress?" he asked, as he absorbed every detail of her appearance.

"I bought it last winter," she replied to his reflection in the mirror. "Do you like it?"

"You look so splendid that I almost regret that we're entertaining tonight." He stepped closely behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Careful, my hair!" she reminded him, but chuckled nevertheless when he kissed her cheek.

"I'm sure you won't regret tonight's invitation," she said after a minute of comfortable silence between them.

"I love you and your optimism," he said quietly.

"I shall hope so," she said. "Otherwise I would be really worried by the presence of your old friend Mrs Kent." She turned in in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his middle.

"You have nothing to worry about," he said. "Annabelle is a part of my past and after the bombshell she delivered on me I wonder, if I ever knew her at all."

"She did what she thought was right… and in a way I'm glad she did. Who knows if we would have met, if she had stayed in your life." She leaned in to kiss him.

"Strange that you should say that… I was thinking about it the other day."

"And?" she asked curiously.

"I can't think of any scenario in my life when I wouldn't have fallen in love with you," he answered, much to her surprise. "I think you could have been married to the King of England and I still would have wanted to be with you."

She blushed and cleared her throat, "Yet, you never made me your mistress," she teased him and played with his collar.

"Because it wouldn't have been enough," he replied and pulled her a little closer. "From the very moment I laid my eyes on you, I wanted more."

"Oh Dickie…" she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely.

"And then there was the fact that I was afraid you would send Lady Grantham with a broomstick after me if I ever made such a proposition to you," he added with an amused smile, once the kiss had ended.

She blinked and said, "I think you were quite right in that assessment."

* * *

Annabelle Kent and her daughter Helen arrived right after Violet who looked more imperious than Isobel had seen her in a long time. She was covered in her best fur and in a dress Isobel had never spotted on her before. After the snowfall of the last days had finally stopped the temperatures had dropped increasingly and for the first time in weeks it was a star-bright night.

Just as Isobel had expected it Annabelle had also tried to outdo herself. Every time isobel had met her, Annabelle's wardrobe had been very expensive and very modern. Tonight it was simply formidable. Every inch of Annabelle looked impressive and Isobel noticed during the introductions that even Violet was short of a snarky remark, while her eyes absorbed every detail of their unknown guests. While Helen's fashion choice reminded Isobel of a simpler version of Mary's wardrobe, Mrs Kent was splendidly dressed a dream of green silk that matched her the colour of her bright eyes, but what her clothing couldn't balance was the woman's nervousness. As the minutes passed by Isobel observed with growing satisfaction how Dickie's perfunctory smile interritated Annabelle while his obvious interest in Helen put her off. Isobel had no idea what Annabelle had expected, but her silence while the small party enjoyed their cocktails in the drawing room spoke volumes.

"Do you know how long you will stay in England?" Violet asked Helen.

"As things look we will spend Christmas here," Helen said. "My husband's in Paris these days and he'll join us for the celebrations next week."

"How nice," Isobel remarked. "How long haven't you seen him?"

"Over two months, but I'm afraid us meeting up here is more a necessity than a joy," Helen said. "I haven't seen my children in weeks and I will certainly miss them over Christmas."

"You have children?" Isobel asked surprised and saw in the corner of her eye how Dickie swallowed.

"Yes, a girl and a boy. Lawrence's eight and Chloe is five."

For a second Isobel felt numb. She didn't believe for a second that she name Helen had chosen for her son was accidentally the same as the one of her lover.

"You should have brought them with you," Violet said before an uncomfortable silence could settle in. "To see how the old world operates."

"My husband talks enough about the old world. I doubt they have to see it to know everything about it." The sarcasm in Helen's words wasn't lost on Isobel and she prayed the dinner would be ready soon, before their conversation shifted into areas that she didn't want to have covered tonight.

The sudden, unusual noise in the hallway cut off Violet's reply. Dickie, on his way to see what was going on, stopped in his tracks, when the door flew open and Larry came in. He was out of breath and looked dishevelled as if he had walked through a storm.

"Father, I need to talk…" He broke off, when he saw the unlikely assembly staring at him. His eyes wandered from one person to the next in the room until they came to rest on Helen. He swallowed, "What is going on here?"

"We have guests," Isobel informed him about the obvious.

"Forgive my intrusion," Larry said mechanically, while his eyes still rested on Helen.

"What is it, Larry?" Dickie asked, his voice sounding unusual harsh. As if he was awakening out of a trance, Larry looked at Dickie.

"It's Amelia. I've just brought her to the hospital. She's gone into labour… way too early. Clarkson says, it doesn't look good."

Violet and Isobel exchanged an alarmed glance.

"What does that mean 'It doesn't look good'?" Dickie asked.

"He thinks she might die."

After a minute of affected silence, Helen rose to her feet. "I think it's best we left," she said without facing Larry.

"I think you're right," Annabelle agreed.

"Tragedy has a way of spoiling one's appetite," Violet agreed and grabbed for her walking stick.

"Do you want us to come with you to the hospital?" Isobel asked Larry.

"If you wouldn't mind…" Larry said and watched Helen as she passed him on her way to the door.

"Of course, we don't mind," Dickie said. "I'm sure we can repeat this some other evening," he said to Helen.

"Don't worry about that," Helen said friendly. "After all, family comes first."

She left the room and Larry followed her instantly. Annabelle stayed behind, obviously shell-shocked.

"Are you feeling all right, Mrs Kent?" Violet asked her.

"Yes, yes...," Annabelle answered quickly and then she addressed Dickie for the first time directly, "It won't work out like this."

"I beg your pardon."

"She'll never be your daughter," she said quietly. "I didn't raise her to lose her to you. Just do as I asked and tell your son to stay the hell away from her."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Dickie answered. "You had your chance to make this right many years ago."

"What did you want me to do? Wrap her in scarf and leave her on your doorstep so that Ada got her hands on her while I was left with nothing?"

"There were other ways," he shot back, rather unimpressed by Annabelle's demeanour.

"Not for me."

Isobel who had watched the low, but heated exchange with growing uneasiness stepped between them.

"Perhaps it's best we discuss this another time." She pointed to the half open door that led to the hallway.

"Of course, you're right, Lady Merton," Annabelle said, without granting Isobel a look as she left the room.

Isobel took Dickie's hand and pulled him with her into the hallway where Annabelle was watching Larry and Helen. They stood near the front door, absorbed in a low voiced, but heated discussion.

"How can you say anything like that?" Larry hissed. "I didn't want this to happen!"

"That's what you always so! It's always…," Helen barked at him, but broke off when she saw the others approaching. "We got to go and you should go to your wife," she said instead.

"I'll be waiting for you at the hospital," Larry said to his father. Dickie replied with a nod and Larry bid the women goodbye.

While Isobel called for the maids to call off dinner Violet kept herself in the background. She had been watching the scene with keen interest. Leaning on her walking stick, she waited until Helen and Annabelle had finally left the house, before she spoke again.

"And I thought I had seen it all."

"What do you mean?" Dickie asked puzzled.

"I never thought I would see the day when Larry gets a taste of his medicine. Married to one woman and helplessly in love with another - and he has no idea who she really is. It's like a Greek tragedy - only without thunder and lightning."

 ***tbc***


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The silence in the hallway of Downton Hospital was deafening. Dickie had occupied one of chairs and kept checking his pocket watch every minute while Larry alternated between sitting and pacing. Dickie could tell his son was a nervous wreck, but of course he would never admit it - just as he wouldn't accept any gesture of comfort or encouragement. He was actually waiting for his son to burst like a overheated cauldron, but so far Larry had restrained himself from doing so. He had even accepted Isobel's offer to look after Amelia, which was even more astonishing. They had been waiting for over two hours now and hadn't heard a word from either Doctor Clarkson or Isobel. It wasn't necessarily a bad sign, but his gut told Dickie that something was deeply wrong.

He hadn't seen much of Amelia since his wedding to Isobel, yet he found himself afraid for her life, not to mention for the life of his grandchild. Not his first as he feared since tonight, but nevertheless the first one he could have been a real grandfather to.

Involuntarily his thoughts travelled back to the dinner that never happened. Just as he had feared the evening had become a disaster. Isobel had been right with her prediction about Helen. He had indeed taken a liking to his daughter, something her mother wasn't too happy about. Her behaviour and her angry words had confused him. He didn't know what Annabelle had expected from him when she had told him the truth, but it had become obvious it wasn't what she had hoped for. As much as he wished to avoid another unpleasant conversation with her, he doubted it was possible to leave things between them as they were. Rather sooner than later he had to find a way to talk to her - face to face with no one else around. Isobel would hate the mere idea of it, but he felt he owed it to Annabelle to talk to her privately.

"Why does this take so long?" For the first time since Dickie had arrived, Larry was talking to him. The hands buried on the pocket of his coat, he was staring at the ceiling, as if the answer was hidden somewhere above him.

"I'm sure they do whatever they can," Dickie answered.

"And what if what they can is not enough?"

There was no good answer for that question and so Dickie just said, "Don't give up hope. Amelia is young and strong."

Larry crooked his eyebrows, "And so was Sybil…"

Dickie acknowledged the remark with silence.

"Why was Helen at your house?" Larry asked, suddenly changing the subject. "I told you to leave her alone."

"And I told you her family and ours are acquainted," Dickie answered. "Aside from that this is neither the time nor the place to discuss her."

Larry's mask of a face changed into a sarcastic smirk, "I knew you would say that. You're always so upright, aren't you? Decent, all knowing…."

"You could try a little decency at times. You may find people will appreciate it."

"Do they? In my experience people mostly appreciate what benefits them. So, in what way does Helen benefit you?"

Dickie sighed, "Why don't you concentrate on your wife? I think it's her your mind should be occupied with - not Helen."

Larry contemplated Dickie's words for a moment and then he sat down next to him. "Easier said than done."

* * *

Exhausted and with a gravely expression on his face Clarkson entered the preparation room where Isobel was waiting for him. She hadn't had any wish to go back into the hallway, where Larry was and so she had stayed in the deserted room, pacing the room like a tiger. Clarkson was still wearing the blood stained apron and the operation mask dangled under his chin. It was the weariness of his movements that told her everything she needed to know. She had never liked Amelia, but her untimely death shocked her nevertheless. Memories of Sybil's sudden death reappeared on her mind and made her numb. No one so young deserved to die.

"I'm sorry," was all he said as he went straight to a cupboard where he hid a bottle Scottish whiskey. After he had exed his drink, he offered her his glass.

"No, thank you," she said. "I think I'll need a clear head. What about the child?"

"It's a boy. He's small, but he's alive - and healthy, as far as I can say." Clarkson answered. "Time will tell. One of the nurses is out to get a wet nurse. As for Mrs Grey…. She's lost too much blood. There was nothing to be done."

He straightened his back and removed his apron and the mask. "l go outside and tell Mr Grey."

"I can do that," she said and fetched her gloves and coat. "With Larry Grey it's hard to predict how he will react. I don't want you to get a dose of his acid or even worse his fist."

"I know he has a reputation of being difficult," Clarkson said and added, "It's no secret you're not close."

"You can say that again."

"Do you think he'll manage - with the boy I mean."

She shrugged unconvinced and busied herself with her gloves. She hissed when her sprained wrist protested against her forceful drag of the soft fabric.

"Didn't I tell you to keep the bandage for at least a week?" Clarkson asked, chiding her. She ignored his reprimand and went for the door. Unsurprised by her attitude he followed her outside. They found Larry and his father in the hallway sitting next to each other.

Dickie looked up when he heard the steps and caught her gaze, silently asking for something to hope for. Larry was just staring into nowhere and didn't seem to notice Isobel or the Doctor. Subtly she shook her head. Dickie held his breath and rose, touching Larry's shoulder. The younger man looked up and came to his feet.

"How is she?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I have bad news," Clarkson said, before Isobel could open her mouth.

"She's dead?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Mr Grey, but the loss of blood was fatal."

Shocked Larry fell back in his chair. His face was white as the wall and for a second Isobel feared he would faint.

"But the baby is alive," she said, after a moment of silence. "You have a son, Larry."

"I have a son…," he repeated.

"We're looking for a nurse for him," Clarkson reported, but Larry wasn't listening. Bent over he stared onto the floor and covered his ears.

"Do you want to…" The grave silence of the hallway was disturbed by the soft cry of a baby. Seconds later a young nurse stepped out of the ward and came towards them. Larry stared at her as if she were the devil himself. He rose again, but was unsteady on his feet. Dickie tried to help him, but he pushed his father's hand aside. The nurse stopped dead in her tracks, when Larry shook his head while he couldn't take the eyes from the small bundle in her arms.

"Don't touch me…. Stay away from me! All of you!" At first he stumbled backwards down the hallway, then he turned around, and fled the hospital. The small group remained where it was, shellshocked.

"Was that me?" the nurse asked flabber-gastered.

"It wasn't you," Clarkson reassured her quickly. "Mr Grey has a shock."

With careful, deliberate steps Isobel went to the nurse and looked down at the baby.

"He's really small," she said, when the nurse handed the new born over to her. Dickie stepped behind her and gently placed his hand on her back.

"He has to stay here until he's gained enough weight," Clarkson said as he watched Isobel wiping away an escaping tear. She couldn't say if it were the events of the day that were taking its toll or if it was the memory of the birth of her own son that caused her tears. She felt Dickie's soothing hand moving up and down her back.

"We will take good care of him."

"I don't doubt it, Doctor," Dickie said in a husky voice. "Thank you for everything."

As gentle as possible Isobel returned the baby to the nurse.

"Go and get some rest," Clarkson said, after the nurse had gone. "And make sure Mr Grey comes back to his senses. The little chap here will need him soon enough, as a matter of fact, he does now."

"Easier said than done," Isobel replied dryly, as Dickie helped her into her coat.

"And get that bandage back on," Clarkson said quietly enough so she wouldn't hear him.

* * *

Two hours later Isobel and Dickie were lying in the dark, her head rested on his chest. After their return from the hospital Dickie had placed some quick calls to a funeral parlour and to Cavenham Park. Larry had arrived at home, but had locked himself up in his study with the strict order not to disturb him. Glad his son had at least found his way home, Dickie had decided to call it a night. There was nothing to be done anyway at this time and everything else had to be arranged tomorrow. Amelia's parents were abroad, Egypt as far as he knew, and hard to reach. He would take the appropriate action in the morning - unless Larry would do so himself, what he doubted.

"I can't believe our day ended like this," Isobel said quietly, interrupting Dickie's thoughts.

"Me neither."

"Isn't it ironic when you think about how Amelia locked you up to die in your own house?"

"You make it sound so harsh…."

"Well, she was harsh, wasn't she?"

"I admit, she could be," he said and kissed her head. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"What will we do, if Larry won't come around about the baby?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean. You can't leave a child in his care, when he's like this."

Dickie didn't even want to think about it. "Speak of the Devil and the Devil will show up! He's had a shock, as any man would. He will come to his senses."

He wasn't as convinced as he sounded, but he hoped he hid it well enough to allow Isobel to get one night of sleep, before they had to face a very harsh and cold reality.

 ***tbc***

 **I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I'm so very grateful for your lovely messages and comments. I hope you enjoyed the chapter despite the dark theme. See you soon :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _The next morning_

Right after breakfast Isobel had telephoned the Dower House to tell Violet the news about Amelia's death. Within half an hour the Dowager appeared in Crawley House - appropriately dressed in fur and a black. Isobel already dreaded the mourning period, but she knew it couldn't be helped. When Matthew had died the black had become a part of her and she had never minded the depressing colour, but with Amelia she certainly felt different. What she mourned the most were the prospects of a young, innocent boy who would grow up without a mother - and probably without an attentive father as well.

She had already asked one of maids and Dickie's valet to check out their wardrobe, but she feared both of them needed to stock up their mourning clothes rather sooner than later.

"I just can't believe it," Violet said when she sank into the chair Dickie usually occupied when he was in the drawing room. She took off her gloves and warmed her cold hands near the fire. "And all this just about one week before Christmas!"

In the early morning hours it had started snowing again and Isobel was growing sick of the snow as she was growing sick of black clothes she had been wearing less than three hours.

"I'm not sure I do believe it either," Isobel replied. "Do you want some coffee? I could use one. The night was rather short."

Before Violet could decline, Isobel rang for the maid.

"Where's Dickie?" Violet asked.

Isobel shrugged, "Making calls, writing letters and telegrams. We've been trying to reach Amelia's parents, but they're in Egypt and no one knows where."

"Shouldn't it be Larry's job to do all of this?"

"Larry's vanished," Isobel reported bitterly.

"Vanished?" Violet was aghast, but kept her tongue when the maid came in. Isobel ordered the coffee and added, "Please, bring one to his Lordship as well."

"What do you mean 'vanished'?" Violet asked when the maid had left again.

"Last night we telephoned Cavenham and the butler told us he was there, but didn't want to talk to anyone. This morning Dickie tried to reach him again and was told Larry had left the house very early and hasn't returned since then. And before you ask, he wasn't at the hospital and he didn't show up here either. I suggested we call the police, but Dickie thinks it's too early…"

"It certainly sounds as if he has lost it."

Isobel agreed. "I don't know what shocked him more: Amelia's death or the realisation that he's a single parent and actually solely responsible for another human being."

"But the child is all right?"

Isobel nodded, "Doctor Clarkson believes so. I'll go and have a look later on. He must stay in the hospital until he has gained enough weight."

The maid returned with the coffee and Isobel asked, "Did you bring a cup to his Lordship?"

"I wanted to, but he said he'd come in here any minute. He's…"

"He's what?" Isobel asked with rising worry.

"He was shouting at someone over the telephone," the maid said with a flushed face and left the room as quickly as her feet carried her.

"Dickie Merton shouting at someone. That's quite astonishing," Violet said she took the cup from Isobel.

Isobel drew s deep breath, relieved it was not worse than a sudden explosion of temper. "Well, must be his nerves. I can't blame him though. As always Larry's making a spectacle of his own misery. Not that I'm really surprised."

"You know what came as a complete surprise to me?" The Dowager asked. "The fact that a perfectly normal and sane woman like Mrs Rouquette seems to have fallen for him! She appears way too intelligent and… normal for a man like Larry Grey."

"I was thinking the same thing, but as you well know, we don't choose who we love." Lost in her thoughts Isobel drank her coffee and stared into the flames.

Violet eyed her concerned and decided not to dwell on the subject for the time being. "So, let's hope the young Mr Grey will find it in his heart to love his young son."

* * *

After Violet had gone and Dickie hadn't shown up in the drawing room, Isobel searched for him in his library. She found him behind his desk, writing a letter.

"Dickie?" she asked and closed the door.

"Yes, dear?" he asked without looking up.

"Is everything all right? Cousin Violet and I were waiting for you…" she stepped next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He sighed sorrowfully and put his pen aside.

"I'm sorry," he said and touched her hand."I wasn't up to talk to anyone. I'm sure she won't mind."

His hand felt cold and her eyes travelled across the room. She noticed annoyed there was no fire lit in the fireplace. Then her eyes came to rest on a couple of boxes near the window.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked. "I don't want you to get ill!"

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he said. "How's your wrist?"

"I'm fine. What's in the boxes?" she asked, wondering if they belonged to Matthew.

"I'm afraid they are mine," Dickie said quickly. "I was looking for something and forgot to have them moved to the attic."

Curiously, she went over to have a look at them. "Is that a picture of Ada and you?"

"I'm afraid so…" He rose and approached her while she fished up a photograph that had been stuck between two notebooks.

She smiled when she saw his young face. "How very young you look… and how very dashing."

He scoffed and took a closer look at the picture. "I think that was our honeymoon. We went to Venice and later to Milan and Rome."

"How romantic."

He grinned, but was far from being amused."Quite the opposite. It was the worst summer they had in years. Very wet and very flowded. It summed up our relationship fairly well."

"Well, Larry was born before your first anniversary. You must have had some good times."

"Let's say we knew what was expected of us."

Sensing his brooding mood, she dropped the photograph and turned to him. She closed her arms around his body and pulled him against her.

"What happened this morning?" she asked gently. "The maid said you were shouting at someone at the telephone."

"Oh well, I tried to locate Larry. Quite a ghastly undertaking, if you ask me. No one knows where he is or what he's doing. Then I tried to find out where Amelia's parents are, but their butler behaved as if he were a member of Secret Service and his employees the Royal Family. He repeatedly told me he weren't allowed to tell anyone where Mr and Mrs Cruikshank spend their vacation. Did you ever hear anything more ridiculous? Their daughter is dead and the butler refuses to help locating them!"

"I'm sorry you have to bother yourself with all of this," she said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He shook his head. "No, Darling. The way Larry and Amelia treated you, you have no reason to get involved more than necessary."

She gave him a grateful smile. "But I want to help you - not Larry. Aside from that I want to go to the hospital to see how the child is. Won't you come with me?"

"I don't deserve you, do you know that? And Larry doesn't deserve that you take care of his son. The boy's his responsibility."

"I'm not doing this for Larry. I worry about the child. He's helpless and lonely."

Dickie bent down to kiss her. "Let's go to the hospital then."

* * *

At the Hospital Isobel and Dickie parted ways, because Dickie wanted to pay his injured chauffeur a short visit, while Isobel went straight to the baby.

"He's stronger than I've given him credit for last night," Clarkson said, when Isobel bent over the small bundle. "He certainly has good lungs."

"Well, that's a good sign then," she said and picked him up.

"I see you found your bandage," he noticed with slight amusement. She rolled her eyes. Actually Dickie had scolded her when she almost dropped her tea cup in the morning and so she had applied it again.

"I did," she replied curtly and returned her attention the baby in her arm.

"Have you heard anything from Mr Grey?"

"No, we haven't. I'm afraid we don't know where he is."

"Unbelievable." Clarkson shook his head.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew him better," Isobel said.

"I hope you don't consider taking care of the child," Clarkson said, as he watched her holding him.

Isobel looked up. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can understand the thought is tempting, but children need…"

"You don't have to lecture me. I think I know exactly what you mean." Angry with herself, because she had allowed him to see right through her she turned away from him.

* * *

In her hotel suite in the Royal Hotel in York Helen Rouquette stared at the lonely figure laying in her bathtub and didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. From what she had understood from Larry's drunken scraps of conversation was that Amelia had died. Feeling nothing but numbness Helen didn't know what to do. Should she allow Larry to sleep off his delirious state or should she call his father to pick him up and bring him home home where he belonged? She had the inkling that Larry had run away - as he always did when life wasn't kind to him or things didn't work out as he had planned it. Over the years she had witnessed his cowardice more than once and knew how he operated.

"Helen?"

She sighed. From the door she heard her mother calling for her. Not ready to face the discussion about Larry Grey again she hurried out of the bathroom, but it was too late. Before she could close the door, Annabelle was already barging in and looked over Helen's shoulder.

"What's he doing here?" she asked angry.

"Take a wild guess," Helen snapped.

"Is he drunk?"

"Amelia's dead," Helen replied instead.

"And he runs to you?"

"As you can see…"

Annabelle marched inside the bathroom and said. "Call Dickie Merton and tell him he can fetch his useless son."

Helen wanted to protest, but she knew her mother wasn't wrong, just without compassion. Determined Annabelle took the shower head, turned on her water and held it over Larry's head…

 ***tbc***


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

After he had convinced himself that his driver was on the mend and could be released from hospital to spent Christmas at home, Dickie left the ward and went down the hallway. Hoping the same could be said about his newly born grandson he almost missed Tom Branson was talking to one of the nurses.

"Tom, what a surprise!" he said and shook the young man's hand.

"I was paying a visit to one of our tenants," Tom explained and added, "The Dowager told us about Amelia. I'm so sorry!"

"Thank you," Dickie said grateful for Tom's kind words. "It was quite a shock."

"I can imagine. How's Larry?" Tom asked, much to Dickie's astonishment. It was no secret Tom and Larry disliked one another to an extent that bordered on hate. Perhaps it was the similar fate of losing a wife in childbirth that had awoken Tom's compassion.

"Not well, I'm afraid…" Dickie said in a low voice. On their way down the hallway Dickie told Tom in few words what had happened since Amelia's death.

Tom didn't seemed surprised, but was not uncaring. "I see. I hope he'll show up soon," Tom said when they entered the small ward where the baby had spent the night. Whatever they had expected to find, it certainly wasn't the scene taking place in front of their eyes.

"Dr Clarkson, I won't listen to this anymore!"

With raised eyebrows Dickie watched his wife snapping at the Clarkson while she was holding the baby in her arms.

"I only meant to be helpful," Clarkson returned just as angry. "But as always you prefer to listen only to yourself!"

"Is everything all right in here?" Dickie cut them off. Isobel whirled around and swallowed when she saw her husband and Tom standing in the doorway.

"Quite all right," she answered in her most stubborn voice. "Hello, Tom. What are you doing here?"

"Just checking in with one of our tenants," Tom answered quickly, clearly embarrassed.

"Excuse me, please." Without bidding hello or goodbye to anyone, Clarkson left the room.

"Won't you come over here and have a look at your grandson?" Isobel asked Dickie and finally managed to fake a smile.

Not sure he actually wanted to know over what Isobel and Clarkson had quarreled about, he stepped closer. He was used to their bickering as he had gotten used to the sparring between Isobel and Dowager Countess. Only with Clarkson he always felt a small sting of jealousy penetrating his heart. Isobel never wanted to hear anything about it, but Dickie was sure, the Doctor still carried a torch for Isobel and would probably do so until he drew his last breath.

"Do you want to hold him?" she asked, causing him to blush.

"I'm not sure…," he started, but before he could phrase a feeble excuse, Isobel had already placed the boy in his arms.

"He's so fragile," he said, clearly flustered. "Are you sure you don't want him back?"

Tom stepped closer as well and looked over Isobel's shoulder. He had to hide a chuckle when he saw the helpless expression on Dickie's face while the baby just yawned, unimpressed by the attention he received. "I cannot detect much similarity to Larry," he said with a grin.

Isobel grinned back at him. "I'm afraid time will tell."

The door opened again and Clarkson returned, one of the maids of Crawley House right on his heels.

"We need an revolving door - just for the members of your household," he said, still sourly.

"What is it?" Isobel asked the maid, completely ignoring Clarkson's presence in the room.

"There was a telephone call from the Royal Hotel in York," the maid said, almost stumbling over her own words. "From Mrs Kent - the one we entertained last night before…. Well, you know…. Apparently Mr Grey is there… The lady said… well, she was quite frank and told me to tell you to get him, before she kicks him out or calls the police or even worse. Her words not mine."

Isobel and Dickie exchanged an exasperated look. "He's with Helen."

"Who's Helen?" Tom asked puzzled.

"That's a long story," Isobel said quickly while Dickie placed the baby back in her arms.

"I'll get him," he decided. "You stay here."

"I'll go with you!" Isobel said determined and put the baby back in the cradle and covered him with a blanket.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Dickie said.

"But I don't want you to go there alone. God knows in what state he is."

"That is exactly the reason I want you to stay here!"

Tom, who had witnessed the back and forth like a tennis match, interrupted them. "May I ask you how you want to get there? Your car is still in our garage and your driver is still in here."

Baffled Isobel and Dickie looked at Tom.

"Why don't I drive you?" he continued. "I can help."

"That's very kind of you, Tom," Dickie said, after he had cleared his throat. "But considering your history with Larry, I doubt it's a good idea."

Tom shrugged. "I promise I won't hit him - unless he hits me first."

"Why don't you continue your discussion somewhere else?" Clarkson barked. "Preferable outside this hospital!"

While Tom and Dickie both reacted rather embarrassed, Isobel was miffed and had no intention to hide it. "I think he's right. It really is too crowded in here!" With her head held high and without paying him another look, she passed the Doctor who rolled his eyes in response.

* * *

 **Royal Hotel in York**

"Oh dear…" If Tom had thought being trapped in the middle of a disagreement between Isobel and Clarkson would be awkward, he was in for a real treat when he found himself in Helen Rouquette's bathroom. Larry, drunk and still passed out despite his wet clothes was still lying in the tub, while Tom, Helen, Isobel, and Dickie stood in front of it, conferring about how to get him home. Annabelle was looming in the doorway, watching them like a hawk that was ready to attack.

"I have to memorise this for all eternity," Tom said dryly.

"I rather wouldn't," Dickie said.

"Me neither!" Annabelle spat from behind. "I don't care how you do it, but get him out of here!"

"He's so wet, he'll freeze to death out there!" Helen said. "We should try to get some dry clothes for him."

"Humbug!" Annabelle was furious. "He deserves to freeze."

"You're not being very helpful," Isobel said to Annabelle, while she understood the sentiment behind Annabelle's words. If it were for her, Larry could sleep off his hungover in a prison cell, but for Dicke's sake she wanted to spare him the embarrassment of bailing his son out.

"I could have called the police," Annabelle returned coolly. "Mr Grey's lucky I only called his father. I had no idea he would bring an army with him."

"I suggest we try to wake him up, make him walk," Tom said in an attempt to be productive. "Perhaps someone could order some coffee…" The suggestion was directed at Annabelle who huffed and puffed

"Good idea!" Isobel confirmed.

"I have an idea," Helen said and pointed at Tom and Dickie. "I think we leave you to it. Mother, you go to your room and Lady Merton and I will wait outside and order the coffee!"

Gentle, but determined Helen hushed her mother and Isobel out of the bathroom and across the hotel suite.

"If you think, I'm going to leave…." Annabelle complained when Helen opened the door for her.

"Yes, I think you will leave. You make this worse than it actually is!" Helen hissed. "Just go. Take a nap or read a book, I don't care!"

Annabelle looked from Helen to Isobel and back. It was obvious she didn't want the other two women to be alone, but Isobel decided this was her chance to talk privately to Helen. She gave Annabelle a dismissive shrug and received a nasty look in return. Running out of excuses, Annabelle had to leave the room and Helen sighed relieved, once the door had closed behind her mother.

"I'm sorry, she made such a fuss. She's been intolerable since we left your house last night."

"Well, she's worried about you," Isobel said. "If you were my daughter and Larry lay in your bathtub I would be worried as well, so I don't blame her."

"Speaking of Larry… He's the reason you invited us to dinner, isn't he?" She walked past Isobel and picked up the receiver to order the coffee. After she had finished the call, she offered Isobel a seat.

"Let's say Larry was partially responsible for the invitation," Isobel said, trying to be diplomatic.

Helen sank down on the sofa. "There are some things that don't really add up in my opinion. My husband always says, 'there are no coincidences', and I think he's right. Nothing, Amelia's death aside, that had happened during the last week is a coincidence."

"What do you mean?" Isobel asked suspiciously.

"All right, let me be more specific. I don't know how much or what exactly you know about Larry and me, but perhaps it's time someone told you the truth."

"Go on."

"I met Larry on a passage from New York to Liverpool shortly after the war and we met again last autumn when he was in Vancouver. I think his father-in-law had sent him there for some business venture. As it happened we attended the same cocktail party and got reacquainted. Believe it or not, up until last night I had no idea who Larry's father was. We never talked about family or any of these strings. It never mattered to us… It wasn't important. I had no idea he was the son of a peer or that my own mother used to know that peer before she married my father. I admit I came to England to see Larry…" she broke off, taking her time to come up with the right words. "There are some things I have to come clean about. By coming here I wanted to straighten out my life, I had no intention to complicate it. And what happened? All of the sudden I run into the Larry's father's wife, I sit at his table for dinner, and then Larry shows up on my doorstep right after his wife has died. I'm confused and I'm angry and my mother is not of help as you just saw."

Isobel moved uncomfortable in her seat. She felt sorry for Helen. "I think I see your point," she admitted.

"I'm glad, because my mother is trying to tell me, I'm mad to think all of this could be connected. So, while we wait for the coffee to arrive and Larry to sober up, I suggest you tell me what the hell is going on here! Because otherwise I'll draw my own conclusions and I doubt that won't do any good to any of us!"

* * *

 **Dower House**

After the Dowager had returned from luncheon at the Abbey, she sat down behind her Davenport and opened her letters. Two came from two old friends who used to sent their usual Christmas Greetings, the other one came from an acquaintance she had never really liked, but who had proven herself to be a very resourceful ally. As so many times before Violet wasn't disappointed by the contents of the letter. As she had expected it there was more to Dickie Merton's marriage to his first wife than meets the eye. The question was how and when to use the information she had just got hold on…

 ******tbc******

 **The plot is thickening... let me know what you think and have a great day :-)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 _Royal Hotel, York_

As soon as Isobel had finished telling Helen about her true identity, she regretted it. While listening to her the young woman had become pale as a freshly starched sheet and despite sitting safely on the sofa, her one hand was grabbing for something to hold on to. Helen looked so mortified as if she just had witnessed someone dying.

"I'm sorry," Isobel said as she grabbed for Helen's free, trembling hand. "But there was no gentle way of telling you."

"Why couldn't she tell me? My mother?"

"I think she's scared, but you see now why this relationship with Larry… has to change."

"Of course…" Helen freed her hand and rose quickly. "You have to get him out of here!" she stated, her panic rising with every passing second. "And you have to do it quick! I need to be alone."

"Of course, you see I'm sure…," Isobel was cut off when the door to the bathroom opened. Tom had placed Larry's arm over his shoulders while he dragged him across the room. Larry was awake now, but unsteady on his feet. Dickie was on their heels, carrying Larry's wet coat.

"I think, it's best we leave now," Tom said, panting under Larry's weight. "Come on, Larry. Let's go and don't forget to keep quiet…"

"I don't want to leave…," he said, when he saw Helen who stared at him as if he were a ghost. "Helen, we need to talk…."

"You have to go!" she told him sternly. "Go home and take care of your son…"

"My son….?"

"Do as you're told. It's for the best, you'll see. And don't forget to be kind."

Larry shook his head and mumbled, "Nothing's good…. And there's no reason to be kind… and why's this chauffeur here anyway?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "The lady's right. Do as you're told and nobody gets hurt!"

Dickie gave Isobel the coat and took Larry's arm. "Let's go. Helen…"

She frowned, but turned to Dickie and gave him a forced smile. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Please, tell your mother…."

"I won't… tell her anything at least not today. As for Larry: take good care of him. He needs someone who does. And sometimes he needs someone who tells him what to do!"

Perplexed by Helen's rough statement Dickie looked at Isobel who blushed instantly and quickly lowered her eyes. It was enough admission for him to understand what she had done. She felt his eyes on her and looked up again, hoping he'd read on her face that she was given no other choice. Her hopes were destroyed when she saw his jaws clenching.

"Let's go, Tom," Dickie said and gave Isobel a long, hard look. "We'll wait for you at the car."

* * *

 _Crawley House_

When Isobel and Dickie returned to Crawley House it was already dark and almost time for dinner. Isobel asked Tom to stay, but he kindly refused with the excuse that the Crawleys were expecting him. Isobel had the inkling that Tom had had enough of the Grey family for one day and she didn't blame him. At least Larry hadn't made a complete fool of himself when Tom had manoeuvert him from the hotel in York to his bedroom in Cavenham Park, where he probably still slept off his hungover.

During the afternoon Amelia's parents had finally contacted them and had informed them about their return to England in time for the funeral. Since Larry was too far off to make any decisions, Dickie had taken charge and had made the necessary arrangements. He hadn't spoken to her unless it had been necessary and his silent treatment was nothing she stomached easily. After her row with Clarkson in the morning and the unpleasant conversation with Helen, the last thing she needed was him being angry with her. She contemplated to pay a call to the Dowager to talk things over with her, but then she decided against it and endured a rather silent supper.

She knew he hated arguing in front of the servants and she expected him to question her once they had retreated to their bedroom, but even there he kept his silence. His perseverance was something she used to admire, but at times it drove her mad and tonight was one of those nights.

His nose hidden behind a book he sat in bed and she was sitting at her dressing table. She watched his reflection in the mirror while she was combing her hair.

"You know, it's easier to read a book when you don't hold it upside down," she said snappily.

Feeling caught, he let the book sink. "If you don't want to talk to me, you should come up with a more elegant way to ignore me. I'm sure your marriage with Ada has taught you some very valuable ways to avoid your wife."

She knew it was a low blow, but she felt like leashing out, especially now that he had dished her the perfect opportunity. She gave his reflection a glaring look and waited for his response.

He crooked his eyebrows and put the book on the bedside cabinet. His movements were deliberately slow, and she didn't know whether he was thinking of a reply or trying to infuriate her.

"I'm not quite sure, you should be the one spoiling for a fight, but if you wish to do so, you can do so at the hospital," he said with a shrug.

"I beg your pardon?!" She turned around to face him.

"I think you heard me."

"I did hear you, but I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. I thought this was about Helen!"

"Oh, it is, partially. Why did you tell her the truth? We had an agreement!"

Isobel scoffed, "I can't remember any kind of agreement. All, I know what something had to tell her the truth after everyone was keeping her in the dark as if she were some fragile child. She's a grown woman and deserves better than that."

"It still wasn't your call to tell her!"

"Well, it was pretty obvious to me you wouldn't!"

"Annabelle…"

"I really don't care for Annabelle and what she says!" Her voice had reached a high pitched tone that she hated on herself. She drew a deep breath to calm her nerves.

"Look, all I'm saying is that Annabelle should have told her daughter the truth as soon as she realized who Larry was. Instead she came all the way from Canada to England to have you taken care of the mess, she created. Did you never ask yourself why she involved you in the first place?"

"I assume she's still angry with me, because I married someone else," Dickie said and his almost unfeeling attitude towards his own words stoked up her anger again.

"In other words she's 'the woman scorned' and wants revenge. Well, you might be ready to play after her rules, but I'm not. I don't intend to be pushed around by her, especially not now that we have a funeral ahead and baby in the hospital fighting for his life!"

She turned back to the mirror and looked for a ribbon to tie up her hair.

"Speaking of pushing…. It became quite obvious today that Doctor Clarkson can push your buttons any day he likes." He picked up his book and opened it. Isobel froze and stared into the mirror. This time he held it the right way and seemed oblivious to her state of shock. She had hoped changing the subject to Helen would have avoided a conversation about her annoying argument with the Doctor.

"And what on earth did you mean by that remark?" She heard herself asking against her better judgement.

"I think you know what I meant," he answered without looking up from his book.

"I don't," she told his reflection.

After a full minute of silence, in which only the cracking of the burning wood in the fireplace was heard, he finally looked up. She was still sitting at her dressing table and stared into the mirror. Deeply lost in her own thoughts she didn't notice him leaving the bed. Only when he sank down next to her, she startled.

"Why are you crying, Isobel?" he asked, sounding much more gentle than all evening.

"What? I'm not…," she blinked and noticed that there indeed tears running down her cheeks. He picked a handkerchief out of her drawer and gave it to her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be… I'm sorry, if I hurt you," he said quietly.

"It's not so much what you said… you were right."

"What did Clarkson say that had you so upset?"

"He basically told me that I shouldn't try to replace Matthew with Larry's boy. He phrased it differently, but I know what he meant. He also reminded me of our age and how he felt about me getting married when we thought you were dying. He thinks I have a neurotic wish to help other people."

Dickie drew a deep breath and waited for her to continue. "The fact is no one can replace Matthew and I'm not trying to do to so, no matter how tempting it is to have a baby boy around," Isobel continued. "And I didn't marry you because I thought you were dying - though I admit, it speeded up my decision." She blew her nose and put the handkerchief back into the drawer.

"Speeded up?" Dickie asked. "You made me wait for you for years!"

She turned her face to him and saw he was smirking. "What's so funny?" she asked.

He shrugged, "You… us… aren't we a little too old to be this jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," Isobel said stubbornly. "I just want Mrs Kent to get lost forever."

"I'm afraid it won't be this easy to get rid off her," Dickie said with another sigh. "And since I won't get rid off Clarkson any time soon, I think we can call it even."

"I wish you wouldn't feel bothered by him." She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Well, he's bothered by me, which, I guess, is understandable since I didn't do him the favour of dropping dead right after our wedding."

"Stop talking like this!" she said, truly disturbed by his words.

"Perhaps I should have a conversation with him. Man to man."

"Oh, please, don't even think of it!" The mere idea of the two men arguing about her caused her to feel embarrassed.

"Why not? Did I ever tell you that I was quite successful in the boxing ring in Eton?"

Against her wish she had to chuckle,"No, you didn't."

"Well, now you do. Really, my punch was legendary. In 1873."

They shared a laugh and then she became serious again. "All, I want is for our life to become less complicated again. Without Annabelle Kent or anyone else to disturb us. Now that Helen knows the truth she'll probably leave anyway and for that I'm truly sorry. You should have the chance to get to know your daughter."

He kissed her forehead. "Perhaps I will, though I'm afraid this conversation will have to wait until the funeral is over."

"I guess, you're right." She sat up and took his hand, pulling him up with her. "And now you can take me to bed - unless you want to exercise for your next boxing gig."

He swung her into an embrace and slowly pulled the ribbon out of her hair. "I think our bed will do for tonight."

 ***tbc***

 **Thanks for reading and for everyone who takes their time to drop a little review.**

 **I doubt I'll be able to post another chapter of this story before Christmas, so I hope this will keep you entertained until I'm back. Merry Christmas to everyone. Enjoy yourself and take good care of yourself! See you soon :-) GraceBe**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 _Three days later_

The funeral of Amelia Grey was a cold affair. Not only was the world now covered in under a most solid blanket of snow, what didn't improve the grim situation was the arrival of Mr and Mrs Cruikshank who hadn't been in Egypt after all. It turned out the couple had spent their time in Dublin where Mr Cruikshank had been negotiating a secret business deal for his bank.

After examining his first and only grandchild two days before the funeral, Mr Cruikshank had decided to sue Downton Hospital for failing to save his only daughter's life. In another outburst Amelia's father also blamed Larry for his daughter's sudden and unfortunate death, simply because Larry was the father of baby. Much to Isobel's surprise Larry endured the old man's tirade with a lot more composure than she had given him credit for.

While Clarkson had retreated into a state of shock, Isobel and Dickie had both tried to reason with Mr Cruikshank, but soon had to realize how useless it was to argue with someone who had no intention of listening. At first Isobel had suspected Mr Cruikshank was too consumed by his grief to see sense and leashed out at everyone, but after a very tiresome discussion she had realized he was just a nasty old man who didn't give a button about anyone but himself and especially not for the half-orphan who was very much alive and needed someone to care for him.

Mrs Cruikshank barely opened her mouth and the second time Isobel had taken her to the hospital, she refused to hold the baby. She had just burst into tears and had fled the ward. The only surprise in the mess had been Larry Grey himself. The day after his drunken intermezzo he had actually found the way to the hospital to see his son. The wet nurse later reported to Isobel that Larry had behaved most awkwardly, but at least he had taken an interest in the baby's health.

The only lingering question left was the missing name. No one had come up with a name for the boy yet and Isobel didn't want to push the matter as long as the funeral wasn't over. Despite Mr Cruikshank's notions Larry had arranged that Amelia would be buried at Downton next to his mother Ada, which had caused another unpleasant afternoon tea at Cavenham Park. Isobel's dislike for the estate grew with every time she had to enter it. It was a house filled with misery and, as the late Lord Grantham had so rightly stated once, literally the coldest house in England. Every time she left it she suffered from cold feet. She had never wanted to live in there, even if she might have done it for Dickie's sake, but every evening when she returned to the warm and friendly Crawley House, she thanked God for the peace of her own home.

It had started snowing again during the memorial service and after the final blessing from a very freezing Reverend Travis the large congregation quickly dissolved and people rushed to their cars, their collars up and their hands buried deeply in their pockets.

"What a sad occasion," the Dowager said, as she joined Dickie and Isobel on their way to the motorcars.

"You can say that again," Dickie agreed.

"How's Larry?" Violet asked. Larry and his parents-in-law were walking in front of them, neither of them was talking.

"Stable," Isobel answered curtly. "But I'm afraid Amelia's parents are not very cooperative."

"At least they don't show any interest in taking the baby away to London, do they?"

"No," Isobel confirmed. "On the contrary, but they still plan a lawsuit against the hospital, which is insane."

They passed the small gate at the end of the cemetery, where Dickie suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh dear," he said with a barely suppressed sigh.

"What is it?" Isobel asked worried.

"Helen's here," he answered in a low voice. "And Annabelle."

"How inappropriate." Violet craned her neck to find the two women and detected them near the street where most of the cars already were passing by. Dickie hadn't been the only one seeing the two women. A few feet away from them, Larry was staring at Helen as if he was seeing a ghost. Dickie quickly went to his son and gave him a quick hint to follow Amelia's parents, before someone would notice the uninvited guests.

"What are they thinking?" Isobel asked angrily, as she watched Dickie approaching the two women.

"Death always lures people," Violet said dryly. "It's like a magnet."

Isobel ignored the Dowager and watched how Dickie exchanged a few words with Annabelle. Whatever he told her, seemed to have the wished result, because both women went back to their motorcar and climbed inside.

"Should we go now?" Dickie asked, when he returned. "We shouldn't be late."

"What did she want?" Isobel asked, ignoring his urging.

"They wanted to express their condolences," Dickie answered so nonchalantly that Isobel knew it was a lie. "Let's go." Understanding, but not liking his meaningful gaze, Isobel took his arm and followed him, the Dowager on their heels.

* * *

The next morning Isobel woke up and Dickie was gone. Her searching hand hit an empty, already cold pillow and at once she was wide awake. She remembered vaguely that she had fallen asleep in his arms the night before and this morning she didn't even notice him leaving the bed. The clock in the hallway struck eight times and she wondered when she had left slept till eight in the morning. She must have been more exhausted than she had realized.

On her dressing table she found a note from Dickie. With a sigh of annoyance she read that Dickie had gone to Cavenham to speak to Amelia's father. Amelia's parents were staying with Larry and she realized she was quite relieved that she didn't have to share another meal with Larry and his parents-in-law. As tame as Larry was these days, she had no intention of pushing her luck with him.

Before she had finished dressing, she heard the maid opening the front door for someone. It was the Dowager. If Violet Crawley paid a visit at this hour, something very important or grim must have happened. Unsure, if she could bear more bad news on an empty stomach, Isobel drew a deep breath and rushed downstairs.

* * *

"What's this?" Isobel asked suspiciously, when she eyed the small bundle of letters, she found on the small table at the fireplace.

"I'm a woman who keeps her promises," Violet said, rather proud of herself. "I told you I would try to find out something about your husband's former… friend, but I found something even better."

The maid came in to serve the tea and Isobel's small breakfast - a slice of toast with butter and jam. Isobel registered that the sender of the letters were located in France and Italy.

"As far as I know, Mrs Kent lives in Canada," Isobel remarked with crooked eyebrows and swallowed a piece of her toast.

"As I always say, travelling broadens the horizon."

"You hate travelling."

Violet sighed annoyed. "Do you want to know, what I found out, or not? And where's your husband?"

"At Cavenham, trying to reason with Mr Cruikshank."

"What an honourable and useless task," Violet quipped.

"Indeed… so, what about the letters?" Isobel asked and realized how unenthusiastic she sounded. At this point she didn't see how more information about Mrs Kent could diminish the damage the woman had caused.

Violet cleared her throat. "Well, you'll find yourself surprised by the contents. One is from an old acquaintance of mine. Her maid once worked for your predecessor, the late Ada Merton by the time she got married to Dickie. She died a few years ago, but not before telling her stories to anyone who wanted to hear it."

"And?"

"Well, it seems dear Lady Merton was one of those who walked down the aisle with not only half of the story hidden…. Actually she was hiding much more."

"I'm afraid, I can't follow you."

"Before, Ada's father bought her a husband with a grand title and a big estate, she was walking out with an officer of the Irish Army. His name was Patrick O'Leary and he was dark-haired, dashing, and had a thing for the gambling table and rich heiresses. Once her father found out that Ada planned to elope with him, he pulled the right strings to ensure Colonel O'Leary was sent to India without a return ticket."

"That's sad, but…"

The Dowager sighed, defeated. Her well-prepared arc of suspense failed its purpose and if she hated something, it was lost punchline.

"You know, at times, it's rather tiresome to share a story with you."

"Please, Cousin Violet, I fail to see what Ada's lost lover…" At last the penny dropped and Isobel's teacup hit the saucer with a clangorous noise.

"Larry isn't his son?" Her question was not more than a husky whisper.

Violet shook her head. "At least, that's what the maid told her new mistress." Violet gave her letter. "Read it for yourself. I think her story sounds credible."

Isobel took the letter and opened it with shaking hands.

"Of course, that changes nothing," Violet said while Isobel's eyes flew over the neatly written lines. "Legally, Larry is the heir of Dickie's title."

"But he's not Helen's brother," Isobel concluded.

"And Larry's boy is not Dickie's or your grandchild," Violet added. "In theory all of this exonerates you from every moral responsibility you might feel."

Isobel gave her a shocked look. "In theory," Violet repeated in a gentler voice. "As I said, legally, Larry is the heir and so is his son."

"I can't tell Dickie Larry is not his child," Isobel said. "As bad as their relationship is… and if I don't tell him, there's no chance left for Larry and Helen." Disturbed she put the letter back on the table and picked up her cup.

"I don't think Larry's happiness should be your concern," Violet said. "The question is, do you want Dickie to know the truth?"

* * *

About lunchtime Dickie returned from Cavenham. As expected the conversation with Mr Cruikshank had been unpleasant and unsuccessful. At times he wondered if it would be easier to take Isobel on a long trip, where they didn't have to worry about snow, their relatives or the hospital. It was a coward's way out, but that didn't make it less attractive.

Glad to have arrived at home, he sent the driver back to Cavenham and went through the gate of Crawley House. The thought of returning home to Isobel brought a smile to his face.

"We need to talk." Irritated Dickie looked around and saw Annabelle approaching him.

"Have you been waiting for me?"

"I was at the cemetery," she answered. "Helen's at the hospital. She had the crazy idea of wanting to see the baby - or to be precise, her nephew."

Dickie cleared his throat. "What do you want, Annabelle?"

"I want to know, what in heaven's name your wife was thinking when she told Helen who she really is!"

"Isobel did what she thought was right."

"And you just allowed her to do it?"

"She doesn't need my permission to do anything," Dickie said.

"I doubt, she cares, if you don't approve, because you forgive her anyway." Annabelle gave him a hard look. "You always liked free spirits. Seems you found your perfect match. I knew it the minute I saw you together. No matter what I do, I'll never stand a chance against her."

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, he said, "I'm sorry. I truly am."

"I doubt you are, but I appreciate you saying it. Goodbye, Dickie." With a sad smile, she turned on her heels and rushed up the street. After a few seconds of watching her, Dickie continued his walk to the front door of Crawley House. It was the ugly sound of squeaking wheels on a snowy street and a body being hit by a car that stopped him and let the blood freeze in his veins.

 *******tbc********

 **I hope you enjoyed your holidays. I wish you the best for 2019! *P.S. Comments are always appreciated ;-)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Happy New Year! I hope you all had a good start into 2019. Mine was rather bad, so I hope the year will improve soon. Enjoy the new chapter and don't forget to let me know what you think. I always love to read about your theories. To the anon who asked about the place where Amelia is buried... When I wrote 'Downton', I meant the village, not the estate of the Crawleys where the Abbey is located. Perhaps I should have been more specific about it...**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 _Downton Hospital_

After a walk through the village that didn't do anything to clear her head, Isobel entered the hospital to visit the baby. Perhaps holding the little one achieved what her exercise in the snowy streets of the Downton village couldn't. Sometimes she hated Violet's sneaky nature. Why did she even allow the Dowager to make inquiries in the first place? The answer was easy: because her jealousy of Annabelle had made her blind for possible implications. As much as she disliked Larry, she hated to think how much it would hurt Dickie to find out, he wasn't his son.

Again she found herself cursing Annabelle for her mere presence in their lives.

Glad she didn't run into Dr Clarkson, because he was the last person she wanted to see at a day like this, she entered the small ward, where the baby used to be. She stopped right in the doorway, when she saw Helen Rouquette standing at the window, the baby in her arms. The young woman didn't notice her, because she was occupied with the child. Isobel heard her softly humming for him while rocking him gently.

"Good morning," Isobel said, as she entered the room.

Surprised Helen turned around. "Lady Merton, I hope you don't mind."

"I'm more surprised actually," she admitted flatly and looked around. "Where's the nurse?"

"She is searching for something. I told her I would look after him until she's back."

Isobel looked down into Helen's arms. The baby was fast asleep and seemed very content. "He's doing well." Helen said with a smile. "He's quite strong."

"Yes, he is," Isobel said and felt the sudden wish to take the child. It was a protective instinct, quite childish and unnecessary and she forced herself to leave the baby with Helen.

"Has Larry finally chosen a name?"

Isobel shook her head, "Not yet. But it's time he picked one, if you ask me."

"I agree…"

Isobel watchen Helen with growing discomfort. "You're making this rather hard on yourself," she finally said.

"That's just what my mother said," Helen smirked. "But the longer I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that she doesn't know me very well. Did she tell you I was here?"

"I beg your pardon?" Isobel was puzzled.

"She told me she wanted to visit you at Crawley House. I thought she made you a scene and sent you over here to get me."

Isobel shook her head. "No, but I wasn't home for the last hour and Dickie is…. He left for Cavenham this morning. I don't know if he's back yet." Suddenly hating the idea that Annabelle and Dickie could sit together at Crawley House, her house, and discuss Helen and Larry without her being there, she considered leaving the hospital at once to rush home.

"She didn't want me to come here, but I couldn't stay away. God knows, I'll never hold a baby from Larry in my arms again. I think I deserve this."

Isobel bit her lower lip and shrugged a bit helpless. "If you feel this way."

Helen chuckled, "You don't like him very much, do you?"

"Let's say the feeling is mutual."

"I'm not surprised. He loved his mother very much, but I think she was a rather strange woman. She certainly left her mark on him and made sure no one replaced her."

"You knew her?" Isobel asked surprised.

Helen nodded. "I met her in Southampton once… a short time before she died. At first I thought it was a coincidence, because I was accompanying my husband on a business trip. I think she was visiting some cousin who happened to be the host of the dinner party where Alain and I were invited. She happened to mention that her son was working for a big London bank and I quickly realized she was Larry's mother. He's got her eyes, you know. Anyway, at first she was quite nice, but as the evening progressed and she realized Larry and I were friends, she suddenly became… well, not rude, but very cold. A real cold fish."

"Didn't you say, you had no idea Larry was Lord Merton's son?" Isobel asked suspiciously.

Helen blushed, "I admit I exaggerated a bit to make you talk… Please, forgive me."

Isobel sighed, "I guess none of it makes a difference now." She leaned over and touched the baby's hand. "You really need a name," she said.

"How about Richard?" Helen asked.

"Well, I won't suggest it, because Larry won't listen to me, but if you want to try your luck, be my guest. I'm sure Dickie would be very proud."

The nurse came in, a bundle of new sheets on her arm.

"Didn't you say your name is Mrs Rouquette?" she asked in her best, rough Yorkshire accent.

"Yes, I am."

"They brought a lady in who was run over by car in the middle of the street. She says she's your mother. She wants to see you."

Helen's face lost her colour and Isobel gasped. "Oh my god!" She quickly placed the baby in Isobel's arm. "Where's she?" Helen asked, already on her way out.

"Down the corridor and then to the left…."

"Is anyone else hurt?" Isobel asked, fearing Dickie could be involved as well.

"No, Mylady, but his Lordship was the one who helped bring her in. Perhaps he knows more."

Isobel swallowed and put the baby in the arm of the nurse. With a waving coat, Isobel rushed down the hallway in search of Dickie. Every time she heard something about a car accident, she almost lost it. Her panic was rising with every second she didn't find him and her imagination got the better of her. She finally found him in Dr Clarkson's office, where Dickie was talking to the Doctor.

"What happened?" she asked, almost breathless. Her relief about him being unharmed was so overwhelming that she wanted to cry. She took his hand and completely forgot to greet Dr Clarkson who registered Isobel's concern for Dickie with the usual annoyance.

"Your family friend had an accident," the Doctor informed he, before Dickie could say it. "She was run over by a car when she crossed the street. Apparently she was in a hurry and didn't pay attention."

"Will she be all right?"

"She'll live," Clarkson answered composed. "Lord Merton was the hero who picked her up from the street and called for help. If you'll excuse me now. I have to look after her."

Dickie repaid Clarkson phrasing with a crooked eyebrow and Clarkson left without another word. Isobel suspected he was still miffed, because of their argument from a few days ago and decided to ignore him.

"What happened?" she asked Dickie in a low voice, when she was sure, the Doctor was out of hearing.

"Well, she was waiting for me when I came back from Cavenham. We argued and then she ditched me and the next I hear are the brakes of a car. I went to see what happened and saw her lying on the street."

Isobel took his arm and leaned against him. "You argued? About what?"

"About you." He shrugged and looked over his shoulder. "Let's talk about it later."

She understood his wish not to be overheard by anyone and agreed. With her voice lowered to a whisper, she said, "I almost forgot. Helen's here. She came to see the baby."

"I know. Annabelle told me. She was furious about it."

Noise came from the hallway. They turned and saw how Clarkson and Helen went down the hallway, deeply lost in a conversation. While watching Helen an idea crossed her mind. She stretched a bit and gave Dickie a kiss on the cheek. Surprised he looked at her and wrinkled his forehead, as if he suspected she was up to something.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"With my life."

She responded with a loving smile,"Good, because I have an idea."

* * *

Before Clarkson decided to call it a night, he paid his latest patient one last visit. To his satisfaction Mrs Annabelle Kent was fast asleep. He looked down on her and smiled. She had not suffered from internal injuries; with a broken leg and a minor wound where the back of her head had hit the slippery road, she could call herself more than lucky. Every time he looked at her, he couldn't shake the feeling a certain familiarity. There was something about her that reminded him of someone. Perhaps it was the blond hair, perhaps her posture… Whatever it was, he would find out and if not, he was glad to have met her anyway.

* * *

 _Crawley House_

After midnight Isobel was still wide awake. She was lying next to Dickie, her arm wrapped around his chest. Her body was still recovering from their lovemaking, but she sensed how Dickie was slowly drifting away into sleep. When she was sure he was asleep, she slipped out of bed and picked up her dressing robe.

She sneaked into the hallway. On her tiptoes she passed the guest room where Helen hopefully slept peacefully. After the car accident Isobel had convinced Dickie to invite Helen to stay at Crawley House - at least until Annabelle was better. After a short hesitation Helen had accepted and now Isobel hoped father and daughter would get to know each other better. The dinner was an awkward, but promising start. She doubted Annabelle would like the idea of Helen sleeping under Dickie's roof, but she was ready to face that issue when it came up.

In Dickie's study, Isobel switched on the small desk lamp, before she opened the boxes Dickie had left near the fireplace. Perhaps she found something in Ada's memories that confirmed the rumours about Larry's real heritage.

 *******tbc*******


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 _Crawley House, the next morning_

Isobel woke up with a splitting headache. She had spent the better part of the night in Dickie's study, reading old correspondence from Ada and even parts of her diaries. It had been one of the most freezing experiences of her life. The account of Ada's memories had been just as the cold as the study in the middle of another snowy winter night. The coldness of the life she had led and the coldness of her as a person had practically radiated from the pages.

The woman had spent over forty years of her life with waiting for a man who had most likely never given a button about her in the first place. Before she had married Dickie Ada had fallen in love with an Irish officer named Patrick O'Leary and shortly after her wedding she had realized she was pregnant.

After his sudden departure from England no one had ever heard of Colonel O'Leary again. Right after her father had died Ada had tried to locate O'Leary, but all of her efforts had been wasted. Knowing a thing or two about missing people due to her work for the red cross during the war, she knew how easy it was for people to get lost, if they wanted to. Many men had used the turmoil of war to start a new life and the same applied for men who had been sent abroad.

Ada's baby, a healthy boy had become her only reason to live. Nothing else had mattered and she had raised him to dislike the man who had been pushed upon her as a husband.

At first Isobal had wanted to finish reading, after she had found out what she had wanted to know, but visiting Dickie's past had been too absorbing to put the diaries down. Wrapped in a thick woolen blanket she had been diving into her husband's past with another woman. Although Ada's perspective on Dickie had not been very charming, she was able to see the bitterness of someone who had been forced to give up her dreams and had needed to blame it on someone else and in lack of other possibilities she had blamed it all on Dickie. As Isobel had suspected it before, he had not been exaggerating when he had said they had been ill-matched. Ada and Dickie had been a couple matched in hell. As always when she thought about the time when she had thought he was dying, she regretted her decision to call off their engagement. After his unhappy marriage he had deserved much more from her than a cold shoulder, because of his ill-bred sons.

Now her head and her heart were aching and she desperately needed some time to digest the ugly truth that had kept her up all night.

"Are you sure, you don't want me to call for the Doctor?" Dickie asked when Isobel told him how awful she felt.

"No, I'll be up soon," she promised and snuggled down in her pillow. "I just need to rest a bit longer."

"All right." He placed a kiss on her forehead and she closed her eyes. She fell asleep before Dickie had reached the bottom of the staircase.

* * *

Dickie was surprised to find Helen at the breakfast table. She was absorbed in the morning paper that lay next to her plate.

"Good morning. What a pleasant surprise," Dickie said as he sat down. "Are you always up this early?"

Helen looked up and gave him a smile. "Yes, I'm an early riser. Although it's more a habit than anything else. I also want to go to York and get some of mother's things she might at the hospital."

"Doesn't she have a maid you could ask?"

Helen sighed, "I guess I could as her, but she isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer and she has only been working for mother for two weeks. I fear she would pick the wrong things."

"I see… Well, you'll know what to do."

"I hope so…" Helen broke off and bit her lower lip. After a short moment of pondering she finally added. "A few days ago… before the funeral I made some arrangements. I sent for the children. They won't be here in time for Christmas, but the day after Boxing Day."

Dickie almost choke on his coffee. "Does your husband know about this?"

"As a matter of fact he doesn't. The children stayed with his sister, a horrible bat, but I felt it would be better to have them here… just in case…"

"Just in case for what?" Dickie asked suspiciously.

Helen shrugged. "I don't know. Anyway, his sister thinks Alain sent for Lawrence and Chloé, so she put them and their nanny on the next available ship."

There was something about Helen's sneakiness that told him, there was more to her plan than just the mere wish to have her children around for the nearing holidays, but he decided not to ask her questions she probably didn't want to answer. He was too glad to have her sitting at the same table and talking to her about anything else than the weather. He was also about to meet his grandchildren - or at least he hoped he could meet them.

"Oh, I think that can be arranged," Helen said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'll bring the children here, if you want me to," she said, as if she had been reading his mind. Perhaps she had. The idea caused his face to brighten up.

"How marvellous!" he exclaimed with a bright smile.

* * *

 _Downton Hospital_

Across the street at Downton Hospital, Richard Clarson was having a bad day, before the day had really started. In the morning post he had received a letter from Mr Cruikshank's solicitor. Apparently Cruikshank was serious about his lawsuit against the hospital and Clarkson himself.l. He had already informed the administration in York about the pending threat of a lawsuit by Amelia Grey's father, but he had hoped against hope the man would see sense after his initial grief had faded.

Annoyed and disillusioned he put the letter into his drawer and rubbed his face. He was exhausted and felt the need for a break from all this. The hospital, the village, his patients…. Everything was tiring him out. Especially Lady Merton and her new in-laws were driving him insane. Every time he thought he was over her, he got reminded of the contrary. And now he was about to lose his position and his reputation, because her daughter-in-law had died right under his hands. He knew it wasn't Isobel's fault, but he couldn't help to think that every time something significant happened in his life, she was right in the center of the mess. How was he supposed to get her out of his head and heart when she and her family played such a significant role in his life?

He sighed wearily and slipped into his white coat. It was time for his ward round. Not that the hospital was busy these days. The ward harboured only a few patients so close to Christmas. He would not only visit Lady Merton's grandchild, but also Mrs Kent, the mysterious friend of the family, he had never seen before and who didn't seem eager to see anyone aside from her daughter. He smiled by the idea of talking to her again. Her beautiful face symbolized one the only ray of hope on this cold winter day.

* * *

 _Crawley House_

After Isobel had informed her in a short note about her snooping expedition in Dickie's study during the night, Violet spontaneously showed up for tea in the afternoon. She made no secret of her surprise to see Helen again when she returned from the hospital where she had visited her mother.

"I think, she's doing just fine," Helen reported. "She's a trooper. Always has been."

"I see," Violet smiled. "How long do you plan to stay?"

"I don't know… yet," Helen admitted. "Unfortunately, I couldn't speak to the Doctor to ask him, when Mother is able to leave the hospital again."

"Well, I don't think she'll be able to leave before the new year," Isobel said. "Even if the fracture is healing quickly."

"We'll see…"

Violet's eyes travelled to the clock on the mantelpiece. "I'm afraid I must leave," she said. "Cora is expecting me for dinner."

"We'll be there tomorrow," Isobel said and added, "Helen will join as well."

"How nice. So, I guess that means we'll meet again tomorrow night." Violet rose as gracefully as her bad hip allowed it.

"I'll see you out," Isobel led Violet into the hallway.

"Is it wise to have her here?" Violet whispered. "What if Larry shows up?"

Isobel shrugged, "He barely does. And what will happen on Christmas? I mean, will you invite him now that he's all alone?"

Isobel hadn't paid a single thought on the arrangements of Christmas Day at Crawley House. Christmas Eve they were invited at the Abbey and she had discussed the menu for Christmas Day and Boxing Day with her cook, but she hadn't contemplated what to do with Larry. She didn't necessarily wanted to have him at her table, but giving the circumstances it wouldn't be kind to leave him at Cavenham all on his own.

"Well…. I'll talk to Dickie about it."

"Yes, I guess you should…," Violet said. "As long as you don't bring him to the Abbey. I doubt Tom would be thankful for another dinner with Larry - not to mention the rest of us."

Isobel sighed. She really could have done without another problem.

* * *

 _Downton Hospital_

A nurse push Annabelle's wheelchair down the hallway. Since the hospital was almost empty the nurse had offered Annabelle a short trip around the hospital. Annabelle welcomed the distraction, especially because her condition annoyed her and since Helen had told her that she was staying with Dickie Merton and his wife, she was also angry. She should have known that they would abuse her injury as an excuse to have Helen around.

Just as the nurse was about to wheel her around the corner that led back to the ward, a man with his coat waving stormed into her direction. He was old, cursed under his breath, and paid no attention to his surroundings.

He almost ran into Annabelle's leg that was plaster casted and lost his hat by the attempt to evade her. With another ungentlemanly curse on his lips he bent down to pick up his hat.

"You should pay more attention," Annabelle scolded him angrily.

The man only scoffed in response. Their eyes met when he got up again. For a short second his eyes sparkled with the unfathomable recognition of someone who had met many people in his life and didn't know where to place the person in front of him. Then he just shook his head and continued his way out. While he may not recognized her, Annabelle knew exactly who the man was.

"Did you know who that was?" Annabelle asked the nurse.

"I've seen him here before," the nurse confirmed. "I think he's the grandfather of the poor little baby whose mother died when he was born."

"You mean Lord Merton's grandson."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"How very interesting," Annabelle mused. "Very interesting."

* * *

When Isobel got dressed for dinner, she heard noises from the hallway. The maid had opened the door and she heard Dickie speaking to someone. Hoping no one else had been injured or another unpleasant event had occured she peeked out of her bedroom and bent over the banister.

To her dismay she saw Larry standing in the hallway. He was talking to Dickie and visibly upset. Instant fear something could be wrong with the baby, she went downstairs.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

"I'm afraid it isn't," Dickie answered.

"I was at the hospital, where I met Amelia's parents," Larry explained. "They want to shift the baby to another hospital - a children's hospital in London."

"But why?" Isobel asked aghast.

"Because they don't trust the hospital here - the same goes for the hospital in York. They heard about the merger last year and claim they want the baby to be nursed somewhere more safe.."

"But they can't just take the baby away from you!" Isobel said. "You're the father!"

"Well, they do try," Dickie said.

"I told Clarkson not to let anyone near him," Larry said. "But I won't put kidnapping past Amelia's father."

"Surely not!" Isobel exclaimed.

"You don't know them the way I do," Larry said and laughed mockingly. "The man is ruthless - I mean really ruthless."

Silence fell between the three of them. It was interrupted by the sound of heels on the staircase. Suddenly remembering their house guest, Isobel and Dickie looked up.

"Is everything all right down here?" Helen asked, when she reached the silent trio.

"What are you doing here?" Larry asked dumbfounded.

"My mother is in the hospital with a broken leg," Helen explained. "Your father asked me to stay here for a few days. It's easier to visit her this way."

"It is indeed…." Larry mumbled absent-mindedly. All of the sudden he seemed tired, even drained out.

"Are you here to join us for dinner?" Helen asked. "I never knew you were this sociable. Didn't you once say most dinners bore you?"

Larry chuckled, "Maybe, are they boring?"

Helen shook her head, "Depends on the conversation."

Unseen by Helen and Larry who were too busy looking at each other, Isobel and Dickie exchanged a look and when Dickie crooked his eyebrows, almost pleadingly Isobel silently agreed and turned to Larry, "Of course, you stay here for dinner. I'll tell them to set a fourth plate. Excuse me, please."

* * *

When Dickie entered the bedroom that night Isobel was already in bed. She leaned against the head of the bed and tried to focus on a novel she had picked from the shelves earlier, but she couldn't. She watched Dickie who sank on the edge of the bed and sighed. His mood had gone downhill during dinner and she didn't blame him. The obvious connection between Helen adn Larry was hard to bear. It was still a mystery to Isobel what Helen saw in Larry, but it was obvious that he loved her.

"I made a decision," Dickie said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" Isobel asked and abandoned the book.

"I'm going to tell Larry the truth about Helen."

She had feared he would say that, which forced her to make a decision of her own. Moving across the bed she approached him from behind and wrapped her arms around his upper body. She leaned against him and felt how he relaxed in response.

"Dickie…," she started, but he just took her left hand and kissed it. "I know what I'm doing, Darling. There's no way to keep Helen and Larry apart unless I tell Larry I'm Helen's father. You've seen how he looks at her."

"Yes, I have and I know the reason for it," she said.

Dickie scoffed, "I think the reason is fairly obvious."

"That's not what I mean. Dickie, I have to tell you something and I pray you won't be too hurt by what I have to tell you…."

 ***tbc***

 **Thank you so much for your good wishes.**

 **So, a lot of stuff happens in this chapter and I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoyed reading it. The plot thickens...**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _Crawley House_

After Isobel and Dickie had retired for the night, Helen had stayed downstairs in the drawing room. Armed with a book and a blanket, she waited for her returning visitor in front of the fireplace. She was sure Larry would come back to Crawley House once he was sure his parents were asleep. The clock on the mantelpiece struck midnight when she finally heard the sound of someone knocking at shutters of the big window. On her tiptoes she sneaked out into the hallway and unlocked the front door. Larry, his hair and shoulders covered in snow, stepped in. She placed her index finger in her lips. He nodded and followed her inside the drawing room.

* * *

Upstairs the bedroom of Isobel and Dickie was filled with deafening silence. After Isobel had made her confession about her snooping in Ada's old belongings and the result of her little investigation, Dickie had broken free from her embrace. Isobel watched him while he stared outside into the falling snow. She was scared to approach him in any way and just waited for him to digest the shock. She wished she could share his burden of losing his oldest son and heir, but how could she? She didn't even like Larry. She had to live with him and his egocentric personality, but deep down she wouldn't mind if she didn't have to see him ever again.

"You should have told me earlier," was all Dickie said after what seemed to have been an eternity.

"I didn't know what to tell you until I knew the truth," Isobel admitted. "It seemed to absurd… I mean, after all there's a resemblance between you. If could have been idle gossip without any substance."

He replied nothing. She wished he would yell at her and dress her down for what she did. She disturbed Ada and his privacy without his permission. She allowed the Dowager to blow up dust. Why didn't he just blame her for the whole mess instead of looking out of the window into the bleak winter night?

Unable to stay still she climbed out of bed and slipped into her dressing down. Perhaps a physical approach was necessary to break his numbness, but before she reached him, he fled the room.

"Dickie!"

Suddenly all agitated he tore the door open. Feeling powerless, she followed him inside his study where he started to dig out everything that was in the infamous boxes.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she said, knowing it was useless. He was like a wolf who had smelled blood.

"Leave me alone," was all he said and quickly added, "Please, I need to do this on my own!" he added a bit gentler after he had realized how angry he sounded.

"All right… As you wish." Unhappy with the situation and her part in it, she did as he asked. She softly closed the door. On her way to the bedroom she suddenly heard the front door shutting. Alarmed she looked downstairs and saw Helen in the hallway, wrapped in blanket, shaking all over her body. Isobel rushed downstairs, fearing someone might have tried to burgle the house.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

Helen startled, but composed herself quickly. "Yes, I am all right," she answered quickly.

"Was someone here?"

"No. I was just outside for a few minutes. I needed some air."

Isobel noticed that Helen's clothes and shoes were dry. Relieved nothing worse had happened, she decided not to question the obvious lie. She felt too worn out to ask anything.

"I think I'll go to bed now," Helen said with a faked shudder. "Good night."

"Good night," Isobel said and watched Helen going upstairs. Certain she wouldn't find any sleep, she followed the young woman. It was going to be another, long night.

* * *

 _Downton Hospital, Christmas Eve_

Once the door had closed behind a very angry and almost physically aggressive Mr Cruikshank, Richard Clarkson sighed relieved and sank into his chair. He loosened his tie and closed his eyes in annoyance. It was already dark outside and the ringing of the church bells told him it was six o'clock in the evening. Christmas Eve. The night to be jolly and to thank the Lord. He scoffed and wished he had something to throw, but there was nothing on his neat desk that was worth to be thrown. Cruikshank was a plague. The kind of vile man no one wished to be near to. From the three visitors he had talked to during the day, Cruikshank had been the most unwelcome. The first visitor had been Lady Merton. Looking worn out and tired she had paid her grandson a visit that had ended in tears. Almost, almost he had fallen for it. As always when he noticed that she was upset, which was a rare occasion itself, Matthew's death aside, he had felt the wish to comfort her. Then he had reminded himself of the fact that she was married to someone else, that she had chosen someone else over him, and that had given him the strength to be kind without making another fool of himself. He was proud of his accomplishment. Maybe this meant he had already been healing and only noticed it now.

After Lady Merton, her useless step son had thrown in a rare appearance. To Clarksons enormous surprise Larry had finally come up with a name for his son. He had named him Richard, after his father. Richard Gordon Grey.

Then half an hour ago Cruikshank had appeared. The man had had the nerve to ask him to hand over the baby to him. When Clarkson had outright refused in a rather dismissive tone of voice, because he was actually sick of the whole family, Cruikshank had tried to bribe him with an respectable sum of money, and after that hadn't worked either, he had threatened him. After realizing his efforts were useless, Cruikshank had left with the promise to be back and that there would be hell to pay. At this point the doctor wasn't overly concerned. Larry was the father of the child and Cruikshank had no right to make claims on the baby. Anything else would be illegal.

Perhaps he should still consider making a complaint at the police. Clarkson was sure that was exactly what Sergeant Willis needed for Christmas. A mad grandfather, ready to kidnap a premature infant.

"You look like someone who needs a friend."

Startled, Clarkson looked up. Annabelle Kent had wheeled into his office.

"I'm sorry, if I bother you," she said quickly, when Clarkson continued to stare at her as if he had just seen a ghost.

"No, you don't!" He circled his desk. "I just had an unpleasant emergence."

Annabelle smiled, "I couldn't help but you overhear you. It's so quiet in here tonight."

Clarkson sighed. "I'm afraid it is. It's the time of year."

"Shouldn't you be home by now?" she asked. "I think I'm the only patient here tonight and I don't need supervision. Go home and enjoy your evening!"

He scoffed. "There isn't much to go home to," he admitted flatly. "I live alone."

She blushed, a bit embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Never mind," he returned and gave her a smile. "It's not much fun being here on Christmas Eve as a doctor, but I gather it's even worse as a patient."

"Oh, I'm fine," she answered. "My daughter was here this afternoon and she will visit me tomorrow. I'm not that lonely."

"So, I assume it's not so bad that she's staying at Crawley House after all," he remarked.

Annabelle contemplated his statement and then she shook her head. "No, I guess it's not. My daughter is a strange creature though. You never know what she's up to next."

"I know the type." Pensively he leaned against the edge of his desk.

"You know what kind of type I do take you for?" she asked in an attempt to ease the mood.

He started grinning. "Tell me…"

"The kind of man with a bottle of fine, Scottish whiskey in the cupboard…"

He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know that?"

"Intuition." She shrugged. "Am I right?"

"Of course, you are." With a chuckle he crossed the room, opened the cupboard where he hid his favourite malt from a small distillery near Pitlochry.

"That's a good one," he heard her saying as he poured them two glasses. He thought about the night Isobel had refused to have a drink with him after Amelia had died and realized the memory didn't feel as painful as it used to be.

"To Christmas," he said, as he handed her the glass. "May the next one be better."

Annabelle returned the toast with a blink of her eye, "May the next one be the best."

* * *

Robert had been so kind to send his motorcar to Crawley House to pick up Isobel and Dickie since the new car Dickie had ordered from Tom and Henry would be delivered after New Year's Day.

Helen had decided not to join the Crawley Family for their Christmas Eve dinner.

Isobel didn't know whether her migraine was a fake or not, but she decided to accept it without further inquiry. Perhaps Helen needed the same break they all needed.

After their restless night and a rather dull day of more snow and less smiles, the drive to the Abbey was silent. Dickie wasn't necessarily avoiding her, but Isobel could tell he was hurting and busy with himself. He had spent the night in his study and obviously he had come to the same conclusion as she had, after he had read Ada's diaries and her correspondence. She had found some of the letters burned in the fireplace in the morning.

For the rest of the day Isobel had tried to distract herself and had visited the baby, but seeing the little boy had only worsened her guilty conscience. She felt as if she had robbed off a grandchild of Dickie. She knew he was one of the most loving and tolerable man she had ever met, but could he ever see Larry's son as his own flesh and blood ever again? The vision of bleak future for the family as a whole had brought tears to her eyes. To her dismay Dr Clarkson had found her crying, but at least he hadn't given her one of his usual tantrums and had stick to some useless, but kind words of encouragement.

The sound of her sudden, exhausted sigh startled her as well as Dickie.

"Are you all right?" he asked alarmed.

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry."

To her surprise and relief he reached out to take her gloved hand. "I'm not in the mood for Christmas either," he said, as he squeezed her hand. "But I guess, it wouldn't have been very kind of us not to attend."

"I know." She moved closer against him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dickie."

"It's not your fault."

"I think it is…. I'm too noisy. If I hadn't been so jealous of Annabelle in the first place, none of this would have happened."

"I don't know what in life is supposed to happen and what not, but if I know one thing that almost everything happens for a reason. Maybe Larry and Helen have a chance after all."

"But that means, we would have to tell them the truth and once they know, someone else will know too."

"Not, if they start over somewhere where no one knows them. The world is big enough and offers many opportunities. Tim's moved to the new world already and he's happy there."

Isobel lifted her head and gave him a look of utter disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious," he answered. "I'll talk to Larry. Maybe not on Christmas, but soon after when I'm ready to face my own demons."

Isobel didn't know what to say and so leaned back against him and stared into the falling snow. The Abbey in all its wintery splendour appeared in front of them and she drew another breath, bracing herself for the upcoming celebrations.

* * *

 _Crawley House_

Helen was nervous. There was no way she could swallow the food, the maid had brought her up from the kitchen. She had tried to telephone Larry, but the butler had told her Larry didn't wish to talk to anyone. The underlying feeling of having made an awful mistake the night before hadn't left her mind all day long. After his proposal of running together, Helen had told him that there was no way of them ever being together, because she was half-sister. His initial disbelief had turned into an outright breakdown that had driven him out of the house and into the snow. She had hoped that he simply needed time to adjust to the thought, but if she was wrong? What, when after Amelia's death, the arrival of his baby, and her being his sister had finally driven him over the edge? What, if it all had been too much?

She hadn't told the Mertons about her conversation with Larry, because the couple was too occupied with themselves. Maybe she should have. What if she had made one mistake too many?

* * *

 _Cavenham Park_

Larry Grey emptied the carafe with the whiskey and didn't bother to close it again. He emptied his drink with one gulp and then he sealed the envelopment. He placed it against the desk lamp in view for everyone who entered the room. For the last time he checked the revolver near the carafe. It was loaded and ready for use. He looked outside. The snow fall outside had almost stopped. The world out there was silent and waiting for a miracle. Well, he wasn't. Not anymore. He slipped into his coat, took the gun, and left the house. He wasn't coming back.

* * *

 _Downton Abbey_

In the Abbey Isobel and Dickie did their best to appear in the best of moods, but both had to admit they were making a rather poor performance of it. After dinner the family was having their coffee in the drawing room. Dickie was talking to Tom and Henry about cars, while Isobel and the Dowager were sitting in a corner. Isobel almost never took her eyes off Dickie. As pensive as she had been after their conversation in the car, she was now increasingly getting nervous and the same went for him. HIs body language told he was barely listening to what the young men were talking about. Not that she was actually listening to the Dowager who vividly spoke of her luncheon with Lady Shackleton a day earlier.

"What's eating at you tonight?" Violet asked, appropriately annoyed when she noticed that Isobel wasn't paying attention to her story.

"I'm just thinking," Isobel said with a shrug. "The last couple of weeks were quite exhausting and now I'm just on edge and I don't know why. Something's wrong and I don't know what it is."

Violet crooked her eyebrows. "Why is your houseguest not here tonight?"

"She didn't feel well. Perhaps she needs some time alone."

"Do you think she and her mother will ever leave again?" Violet asked. "I think they look pretty much settled in by now."

"Just because Annabelle is in the hospital. I won't be sorry to see her go, I will admit that."

"And Larry?" Violet asked with a meaningful look. "What does he say to all of this?"

"Nothing yet," Isobel answered and toyed with the end of her right glove. "And I can honestly tell you, I fear for the say, he will have something to say about this. If you'll excuse me now. I think we should leave soon."

"I'll join you. That way the driver won't have to get out twice tonight." Violet rose as well and followed Isobel.

* * *

Andrew, the footman, crossed the hallway with a tray of fresh coffee when he heard someone knocking frantically at the front door. Barrow who just left the drawing room to get the coats for the leaving guests, heard the noise and gave Andrew a nod.

"I'll take the door, you'll bring in the coffee."

Andrew nodded and the butler went to the door. In front of it he found a beautiful dark-haired woman in her thirties. He saw no motorcar or any other object of transport. Perhaps she had been the victim of an accident, though she looked more panicky than injured.

She was wrapped in a woolen coat, but wore no hat, and he had never seen more impractical boots for a walk through the snow. Her teeth were chattering and her cheeks were reddened from the icy cold.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"My…. my name is Mrs. Rouquette. I have to talk to Lord and Lady Merton. It's urgent!"

 *******tbc********

 **So... you can tell is story is slowly coming to an end. What is Larry up to? Is Clarkson about to find a new love? And what will happen to Larry's son? Questions, questions...**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

 _Downton Abbey_

"You did what?" Dickie hissed.

Helen, guilt-stricken, looked down to her feet. "Larry came back to the house last night after you went to bed. He asked me to run away with him. That's when I told him, why I couldn't."

"But couldn't you wait?" Isobel snapped. "You don't even know the half of the story!"

The trio stood in the shadow of one of the pillars near the entrance. They had lowered their voices, because Barrow was standing near by, probably ears dropping.

"I know it wasn't my call, but I didn't want to lie to him anymore."

"Well, you've never been short of a lie before when it suited you!" Isobel gave Helen an angry glare.

"Touchè."

"Ladies, please," Dickie interfered. "Not now."

Helen swallowed, "I agree, we need to find Larry. Something's wrong. I know it!"

"What did they tell you, when you telephoned the estate?" Dickie asked.

"The butler told me, Larry had left the house. There's a letter on his desk… with my name on it."

Isobel sighed, "All right, we need to go there. I'll ask Tom to help us."

Without waiting for anyone to agree or disagree Isobel went to the drawing room.

"What did she mean, when said I wouldn't know half of the story?" Helen asked, once Isobel was out of earshot.

"Later," was all Dickie answered. "Let's concentrate on finding Larry first."

* * *

 **Cavenham Park**

Half an hour later Isobel and Helen stormed into Larry's study. The fire had almost died and the small lamp on the desk was flickering. On their way to Cavenham Isobel had noticed that some of the lamp posts along the streets flickered as well. The last thing they needed this night was an electricity failure.

"There it is!" Isobel pointed at the letter leaning against the lamp.

Helen tore the envelope apart and her eyes quickly scanned the lines. "It's a suicide note and a last will," she confirmed her own worst fears. Her voice was shaking as were her hands. "He says I should take care of the baby." She let the letter sink. "That's all my fault."

Isobel noticed the carafe on the desk was empty. "Seems he needed to some Dutch courage to go through with it. Perhaps he's still outside, wandering around." She didn't quite believe Larry would actually kill himself. She never took him for the kind of person who could be desperate enough to take his own life.

"I'll go outside!" Helen rushed to the door, but Isobel's words stopped her. "Where do you want to look? You don't know the estate any better than I do! He could be anywhere."

Helen, the door knob in her hand turned to Isobel. "I cannot sit in here and wait. I have to do something!"

"I understand you," Isobel said.

Helen shook her head and went back to Isobel. "No, you don't, because you don't like Larry. But would you stay in here if the man you love were outside after he threatened to kill himself."

Isobel nibbled at her lower lip, while she contemplated Helen's words. She hated the fuss Larry was making, hated that Dickie was out there in the cold, searching for his son, but she knew Helen had a point. She would do anything to save the man she loved. "I'll go with you. I'll ask the footman for another flashlight."

"I had no idea your estate is this big," Tom said, as he walked next to Dickie. The path someone had shovelled through the snow led then across the lavish park of Cavanham. Both men were carrying flashlights, but since the snowfall had increased, it was almost impossible to track any footprints. The sight was bad and the harsh wind was painful in the eyes. The butler and two other footmen had joined the search and followed them, but they were headed into another direction and didn't show much enthusiasm. Dickie wondered what Larry had done to them to deserve that no one wanted to search for him.

"Larry's estate you mean," Dickie said. "I'm actually glad to be rid of it."

"You know what I meant. Where are we going anyway?"

"There's a treehouse at the other end of the park," Dickie explained. "Larry and Tim used to play up there as children. Every time they played a prank on someone they hid in it. It has a rope ladder. They pulled it up and only came down when they became hungry or too felt. As they grew older they stocked up some food and blankets there. One summer it took them two days to come again. Lady Merton was furious and Nanny almost had a heart attack."

"Why didn't you cut the tree?" Tom asked amused.

"I wanted to, but the late Lady Merton made a big fuss when I suggested it and so I dropped the idea. The boys could do no wrong in her eyes or let's say whatever they did never left a lasting impression on her."

Tom preferred not to comment on that, but he started to understand why Isobel had always felt the house could never be hers.

"It's over there!" Dickie lighted up at an old oak that stand hidden behind a hedge. Tom narrowed his eyes. He saw the tree house that was in good condition for its age. A rope ladder was hanging out of the entrance, moving in the wind.

"I think Larry told me he had someone fixing it, when Amelia told him she was pregnant," Dickie explained, as if he had read Tom's thoughts.

"How sentimental," Tom quipped.

"You're not the first one who said that. I think Amelia said, her children would only play up there over her dead body. Ironic, isn't it?"

They stopped at the tree. The branches around them creaked in the wind and under the weight of the snow. Tom illuminated the entrance of the small house.

"Larry?" he yelled. No one replied. With a heavy sigh, Tom handed Dickie his flashlight. "I'll take a look."

"No, wait…"

"I'll be careful," Tom assured him and tested the strength of the rope. It was new and Tom was sure it would carry him. He was about one three foot in the air, when a shot rang in his ears. An owl, scared up the noise, almost hit him and flew away, shrieking out loudly.

"Larry!" Tom yelled again and hurried up the ladder, as fast as the harsh wind, the cold, and his freezing limp allowed it.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Helen asked, completely startled. "That was a shot, wasn't it?"

"I think so," Isobel agreed. They had taken the path down the driveway that led away from the house and the park. "I think it came from the park."

"Is there a way to enter it from the path?" Helen asked. Isobel shook her head. "I think it's faster if we go back to the house and enter the park from the drawing room."

The women hurried back along the driveway and almost reached the staircase leading to the front door when another shot rang through the night and someone screamed. Both held still for a moment, listening for something else to hear. But there was only the sound of the wind rushing through the trees and over the snowy ground.

* * *

"You bloody fool!" Tom yelled at Larry while Larry was clinging to the rope ladder like a pirate to a starting plank.

"I told you to stay away! It was a warning shot!" Larry yelled back as he struggled to reach the ground without slipping away.

"Great shot. I can tell you missed your head!"

Finally standing on his feet, Larry turned to Tom, but struggled with the heavy coat he was wearing. The hem was caught on a small branch of the hedge. "What are you doing here anyway?" Larry asked while he fought with hedge. Tom caught a glimpse of the gun Larry had tucked into his pocket.

"Your father asked me to help him searching for you."

"My father," Larry scoffed. "What a joke… He's not the nice guy you take him for, you know. He has a dark side, too."

"Sure he has and the Dowager Countess is a squirrel. Your mistress is here, too," Tom added. "She's a nice lady, by the way," Tom added. "I wonder what she sees in you."

"Helen's here?" Larry slurred, suddenly uninterested in his coat that was still stuck at the hedge.

"Yes, at the house."

"You better keep your hands off her," Larry said, marched off, and started struggling. Tom could have caught him, but he decided to let Larry fall flat on his face. Perhaps the cold snow helped to clear his head. Larry groaned in pain and Tom sighed half amused, half annoyed. Next to Larry's feet lay a revolver. Realizing it had fallen out of Larry's pocket Tom bent down and picked it up. In the meantime Larry bobbed up and cursed under his breath,"Bloody bastard."

"Takes one to know one," Tom said and bent down to help Larry back on his feet. He was bleeding from his nose. Where he had hit the ground blood had coloured the snow into a deep red. Tom searched his pockets and gave Larry his handkerchief. At first he refused but then Tom forced it into his face and Larry yelled in pain.

"I think my nose is broken!"

"Beauty is only skin deep, Larry. Let's go to the house. Isobel and Helen are waiting for us, and I'm freezing…" Tom broke off when he saw there was more blood in the snow, only a few feet away from them. The he noticed an abandoned flashlight.

"Oh my god!"

Near the traces of blood he recognized two feet. With panic rising in his chest Tom hastened towards Dickie who lay out flat in the snow.

"There's blood on his arm and he's unconscious," Tom said after he had checked his pulse and looked az his hands after he had touched Dickie's upper arm.

"What?!" Larry kneeled down next to Tom. He still pressed the handkerchief onto his bleeding nose.

"You know what?" Tom asked angrily. "I think your bloody warning shot hit him!"

"That's not possible! I didn't mean to shoot anyone but myself!" Larry threw the handkerchief away and touched his father's shoulder.

"Father!" he yelled and shook him. "Father!" Did he just imagine it or did Tom hear panic in Larry's voice?

Dickie groaned and his eyes flickered open.

"We need to get him back to the house!" Tom ordered. "Quickly! It's too cold out here."

Larry rose, struggled to keep his balance, but helped Tom to lift his father's weight.

"I think it's his shoulder," Tom said, as Larry placed Dickie's arm around him. "Can you carry him?"

"Yes, go to the house and call the Doctor," Larry said, suddenly sober, his face blood-smeared. "I'll get him there."

* * *

As the house came nearer Tom saw that Isobel and Helen were rushing towards him.

"What happened?"

"Who was shooting?" the two women asked unisono.

"Isobel, I need you to call the Doctor," Tom said out of breath. He decided he wouldn't tell her Dickie was the one who got hit by a bullet just yet.

"Is he hurt? Did Larry try to kill himself?" Helen asked, grabbing Tom's collar with both of her hands.

Isobel noticed a small trace of blood on Tom's cheek.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"I can't tell. Just hurry!" Isobel nodded and turned on her heels. While she rushed back to the house, Helen passed Tom and pulled him with her. "I'll go with you!"

Tom took a second to catch his breath and then he said, "Wait, a second. It's not Larry who is hurt. It's Lord Merton."

Helen stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around. "What?" she asked aghast.

"But who?"

"It was an accident. Larry fired a shot to startle us and…."

Helen pressed her hand over her mouth. "Where are they?"

"Down the path. We have to help Larry to get him back here."

Helen, just nodded. Lost of words, she just followed Tom down the path.

* * *

After she had called Doctor Clarkson who wasn't pleased about her interrupting his evening, she went back to the deserted drawing room. It seemed Helen had joined Tom outside. Feeling how a cold shiver suddenly overwhelmed her, Isobel snuggled deeper into her coat. Sure, it was the house who caused her unease, she did her best to ignore her surroundings. The clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven times. Now she understood why Clarkson had been so unhappy about her call. She had lost track of time completely this evening. But why had he still been at the hospital at this time?

Too tired to think about Clarkson's holiday habits she looked outside. Finally she saw the small group of four people with their heads bent down to protect their faces from the painful storm. They slowly moving down the path. The heavy snow fall made it hard to make out who was who, but something about the composition of the congregation seemed wrong. Tom was the smallest of the men and he was walking next to Helen in front of the others. Larry and Dickie were almost about the same size, but Isobel doubted Dickie could actually drag an injured Larry across the icy park, which could only mean that…

"Dickie!" All the weariness had suddenly faded and turned into utter fear. She rattled at the french doors until they opened and ran down the stairs. Yelling Dickie's name, she almost slipped on the icy stones, but her adrenaline kept her up right. Tom caught her when she finally reached the small group.

"Dickie! What happened?"

"He'll be fine," Tom said as reassuring as possible. "It's just his shoulder."

Isobel barely heard him, struggled to break from his grip around her waist.

"Please, calm down," Helen pleaded, as she ran into Isobel and almost knocked her over. "We need to get to the house!"

Larry, out of breath and again bleeding from his nose struggled to move his father along.

"Dickie!" Isobel yelled, as Tom dragged her back towards to the house.

Dickie's eyes flickered when heard Isobel's voice. "It's all right," he just mumbled.

"Bloody hell," Larry mumbled. "Helen, help me!" Helen rushed to Larry's side and took over for him. Larry turned around, bent over and got sick in the snow.

Tom let go off Isobel and helped Helen to move Dickie up the staircase. "I got him" Tom said, when they had reached the french doors. "Go to Larry."

With Isobel on their heels Tom brought Dickie into the drawing room, while Helen stayed outside and rushed to Larry who was now kneeling in the snow. Together Isobel and Tom led Dickie to the narrow chesterfield.

"Careful!" Isobel ordered Tom, as he almost tripled over the leg of a chair.

"The doctor is on his way," Isobel said to Dickie, as she took a closer look at her wounded husband. She took his face into her hands. He was pale and there was cold sweat on his forehead. "He's on his way. You'll feel better soon!"

"It's not so bad," Dickie said between clenched teeth. "I've been shot before… it's not so bad."

Isobel opened his coat with shaking hands.

"You have to get out of this," she said more to herself than to him. "Tom, the room is not warm enough. We need a fire and a blanket."

"Yes."

"Call, the butler. We need brandy."

"Yes," he repeated. He rose and took off his wet coat. The gun that was so annoyingly heavy fell to the floor. He gingerly picked it up and placed it onto the mantelpiece. Behind him Dickie groaned when Isobel removed his coat, the white tie, and the dinner jacket.

"You lost some blood," she said quietly and looked closely at the wound and the bloodsoaked shirt. "The bullet's still in there. Tom, how did this happen?"

"It was an accident," Tom answered vaguely while piled up some woods in the fireplace.

"How?" Isobel asked again. Her voice had lost its former high pitched timbre. She sounded calm and collected - and colder than Tom had ever heard it before.

"Take a wild guess," he said. "Larry was drunk and fired a warning shot into the dark." He went to the door and yelled for one of the servants. A minute later, a young footman appeared at the door.

"We need brandy and more wood. The doctor will be here soon. Keep an eye on the door," Tom ordered and quickly closed the door when the servant tried to peek in to see what was happening inside.

When he turned he saw Isobel still kneeling next to her husband. She wiped his forehead gently with her handkerchief and spoke softly to him.

Suddenly feeling like an intruder, he turned away. He looked out of the French door and watched Helen and Larry. Supported by Helen Larry slowly climbed up the stairs. Pale and trembling Larry entered the room just as two footmen came in, one brought the brandy, another one carried a batch of firewood. Isobel didn't pay Larry a single look. She stayed next to Dickie, held his hand, and wiped his forehead.

Helen dumped Larry onto a chair and tried to clean his face, which was a useless task since his nose kept on bleeding.

Just as the Doctor entered the room, Tom remembered the gun on the mantelpiece. He quickly crossed the room to hide it somewhere else, but it was gone. He looked around, hoping one of the others gave him a sign or a hint, but no one paid attention to him. Larry said on a chair, his head bent back, Helen stood next to Isobel and together they listened to instructions from Clarkson.

Unsure whether to be worried or not, Tom opened the brandy, and poured himself a large drink. He thought he deserved it.

 ********tbc*********

 **That was long... but I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Let me know what you think!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

 _Downton Hospital_

Annabelle Kent stared into the night, wife awake and unable to fall asleep. Her bed stood close to the window and she had asked the nurse to keep the curtains open. She prefered to watch the snow falling to staring at the ceiling. She couldn't remember when she had enjoyed an evening like this. Before he had been called away, Doctor Clarkson and she had sat in his office. It had been lovely to talk to a man who looked past her money and her beauty. He seemed genuinely interested in her as a person. They liked the same books, shared the same sense of humour, and just as she, he disliked almost everything connected to the Merton family. Over a bottle of his favourite Scottish whiskey he had also confided to her about his problems with the parents of the late Amelia Grey about her son who had finally been named after Larry's father and favourite uncle.

Annabelle hated to think that a good Doctor like Clarkson was dragged through the mire by a vile person like Cruikshank. The moment she had laid her eyes on him in the hospital floor, she had recognized him. A long time ago, Amelia's father had been one of her customers and he hadn't been one of the nicer punters. Even back then the man had disgusted her with his preferences and his cruelty. Thanks to Dickie Merton, Dickie Grey back then, and his money, she could turn her back on men like Cruikshank, but that didn't mean she had forgotten about them. Perhaps it was time to repay Cruikshank for his dirty deeds. Perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone, even if it meant she had revisit her own, infamous past.

* * *

 _Cavenham Park_

Clarkson cleaned his hands on the bowl of hot water that stood on a chippendale table and dried his hands in the towel Helen handed him. With a mixture of relief and annoyance he looked over to Isobel who was kneeling next to her husband and tenderly wiped his forehead. Thankfully the wound had been easy to deal with. The shock had been worse, but Clarkson was confident that after a few days of rest, the Lord would completely recover.

He turned around to take a closer look at Larry Grey's face. The young man groaned when Clarkson touched his nose.

"I think you'll be better off at the Hospital," he said. "Your nose is broken and I think you might have a concussion."

Larry just nodded carefully, too weak to protest. Clarkson turned to Tom who was leaning against the mantelpiece, the arms crossed over his chest. "Perhaps you could call the hospital and ask them to send an ambulance."

Tom agreed, apparently glad to have something to do at last. "Of course."

After Tom had left the room, Clarkson returned his attention to Isobel. "Lady Merton, could I speak to you?"

She looked up. "Of course. I'll be right back," she said to her husband and rose. She adjusted her dress as best as possible and followed Clarkson into the hallway.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You know I have to inform the police about the shot wound."

She swallowed. "Please, don't."

"It's the law!"

Her face lost all its colour. "I know, but… it was an accident."

"Listen, I don't even want to imagine how your husband got shot or why your step-son has a broken nose, but it certainly doesn't look like some innocent accident - especially not on Christmas Eve!"

Isobel shifted from one foot onto the other. She understood his anger, but she also wanted to protect her family.

"Larry threatened to kill himself. We went over here and the men found him outside in the park. He was drunk and fired a shot to startle them…." She shrugged helplessly. "That's the truth, and now I kindly ask you not to involve the police. Please!"

She did something she hadn't done in ages, if ever and it made his heart race within his chest. She placed her hand on his wrist and squeezed it. A strand of her hair had loosened from her chignon and he felt the sudden wish to brush it back her ear. "I thank you for everything you did for us, but I can't let you call the police. What this family needs is healing not judging."

Her unexpected touch had made his throat dry and his determination staggered. So much for his fading sentiment. "All right," he said defeated. "No police."

"Thank you." she said quietly and gave him wide, grateful smile.

* * *

After Tom had helped to take Larry into the ambulance, he returned to the deserted drawing room. Isobel had asked the servants to prepare a bedroom for Dickie and herself for the night while Tom was supposed to take Helen back to Crawley House.

Using the opportunity of being alone in the room Tom looked around. The missing gun hadn't left his thoughts for a moment. He started searching the drawers of the various boards and shelves, but came up empty. Since Larry and Dickie had been indisposed, the only two options to take the gun were Isobel and Helen. Was it gentlemanly to search their bags for the gun just to ease his mind? He couldn't imagine one of them meaning any harm, especially not Isobel, but still. Larry hadn't wanted to shoot anyone and yet he had done so.

Helen's handback lay on the chippendale table next to the bowl with water. After one last, quick look at the door, Tom opened it. Aside from a handkerchief, a small compact, and a few coins it was empty.

His eyes travelled the room. Isobel's bag was nowhere to be seen. Since he was sure she hadn't had it with her when she left the room with Dickie and Helen, he got on his knees and looked under the furniture. He detected the bag on the floor near the chesterfield. He picked it up and the weight of the black velvet handbag told him everything he needed to know.

"Are you all right?" Startled he whirled around. Helen stood in the doorway and looked questioningly at him.

"Oh yes!" he said quickly and got back to his feet. "I just found this on the floor. Lady Merton might miss it."

"I'm sure she'll come downstairs again, once she's sure Lord Merton is all right," Helen said.

"Yes, right." He carefully placed the back onto the sofa. "Are you ready to leave?"

"The Lord knows I am. It was a long day!" she said. She crossed the room with quick steps to pick up her own bag. "I think I have to apologize to you, Mr Branson."

"I beg your pardon?"

"For disrupting your Christmas Eve," she explained. "And for abusing your driving skills."

He chuckled, "Believe it or not, life at Downton is never dull. Far from it."

She laughed softly, "I've noticed that much by now. At least you'll be home for your daughter to open her Christmas presents."

He looked at the watch. It was almost half past one. Christmas Day had arrived and knowing the children he feared the night would be over soon. "Yes, I will. Who needs sleep anyway?"

* * *

 _Christmas Day_

Isobel woke up when Dickie moved next to her. Alerted she opened her eyes to find herself entangled with her dress and a thin blanket. Her arm was still wrapped around his upper body. Feeling a little stiff and cold, she removed her arm and tried to remember every detail of what had transpired the night before. The snow, the shooting, the blood, and the decision to stay at Cavenham, because she didn't want Dickie to be taken across icy roads in the middle of the night. Being utterly exhausted herself she had fallen asleep next to him without even undressing, even though a maid had given her a nightgown. Isobel feared it was one of Ada's or even worse from Amelia. To her regret she hadn't removed the hair pins. As a result some of them poked into her scalp, causing her head to ache.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"As if a truck had hit me," he admitted, his eyes still closed. "And you?"

"Not much better. Do you want some breakfast?"

"Yes, but not just yet."

She climbed out of bed, glad to stretch her bones, and inspected the bedroom for something she could use to make herself presentable.

The night before she hadn't taken to time to reacquaint herself with the bedroom. It formerly belonged to Ada and after that to Amelia. Her dislike for the house hadn't gone away, but she decided to see the practical side of it, instead of dwelling on colours and wallpaper.

She quickly removed the disturbing hair pins and groaned with relief when she found the last one and pulled it out.

"Mary's hair cut certainly has its values," she joked when she searched Amelia's dressing table for a brush.

"Don't you dare. I love your hair just the way it is."

"Already complaining again?" she asked with a chuckle.

"I was merely making a statement," he said and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I love your hair almost as much as I love you."

"What are you doing?" she dropped the brush. "Let me help you!"

She rushed to his side, but he was standing on his feet before she could assist him. "I'm fine, Isobel," he said, but flinched when he touched his injured shoulder. Clarkson had fixated the arm in a fling.

"Be careful. Are you sure you're not dizzy or…?"

"I'm not dizzy… it hurts like hell, but as I said…."

"You've been shot before," she repeated his words from the night before. "I wonder when that happen and why you never told me about it!"

"It was a stupid hunting accident," he said. "Rather embarrassing to be honest. My cousin once removed Archibald forget to engage his twelve bore. He had too much to drink, it fell out of his hand and the shot hit me in my left calf."

"I'll never understand why people… men drink and go hunting," she said with a shudder. "It's reckless."

"It happened a long time. Archibald died a few years later. Hepatocellular necrosis."

"Why am I not surprised?" she asked and allowed him to pass by. She watched him vanishing inside the bathroom next door and sighed. As relieved as she was about Dickie's condition, she had to remind herself about the surrounding circumstances. There was still the fact that Larry had shot Dickie and she had asked, begged Doctor Clarkson to cover everything up. She had shamelessly abused their friendship and his lingering feelings for her to get him to do what she wanted and to a certain extent she felt guilty about it. Nevertheless she would do it again, if necessary.

Then there was the revolver. It was still in her handbag that was securely hidden in the drawer next to the bed. It had been a spontaneous decision to hide it, before someone else could take it. Without the gun the police couldn't prove anything, but she still wanted Larry to pay for the pain and fear he had caused. She knew Dickie wouldn't want to hear about it, but she wanted to hold Larry accountable in some way. He had got away scot-free too often in his life. It was time someone called a halt to his bad deeds.

She heard a car coming down the driveway and went to the window. She opened the curtain and saw it was Doctor Clarkson. She looked down on her wrinkled dress and her less than presentable appearance. If she wanted to look at least halfway decent she needed to hurry.

* * *

 _Downton Hospital_

Clarkson returned to the hospital around lunch time. To his relief his nurse reported nothing unusual. Mrs Kent was an easy patient and Larry Grey was still asleep after a high dose of medication. He had indeed suffered a mild concussion and his nose was broken and bandaged.

Before lunch he wanted to pay a short visit to Annabelle, but when he entered the ward, he saw she had a visitor. Her daughter was sitting at her bedside. A little disappointed, he retreated and decided to have a look at Baby Grey instead. So far he hadn't quite digested the fact that the baby, Lord Merton, and he shared the same first name. It seemed immensely ironic to him and another sign for his useless attempts to create a distance between himself and Isobel's family. Their short conversation in the hallway of Cavenham Park had kept him awake for the rest of the night. He couldn't shake the image of her standing before him in all of her deranged beauty. She knew exactly what she was doing to him and he shouldn't have fallen for it, but, of course, he had.

He looked down on the baby who contently yawned in his cradle. Very soon the small chap could be released and not for the first time he wondered, who would take care of him.

* * *

Isobel arrived at the hospital after tea time. The sun had already set, but for the first time days it wasn't snowing. She had enjoyed the short walk through the village. After Tom had told the Crawleys about the "small accident" on Christmas Eve, Cora had offered Isobel and Dickie to join them for Christmas dinner, but in the vain hope to spent a calm evening at home, she had declined. Glad that Dickie had been the one to insist on leaving Cavenham as soon as possible, she looked forward for a quiet dinner and an early night, but not before she had read Larry the riot act for his irresponsible behaviour.

Before she went to Larry, she made a small detour to see the baby.

"Hello, little one," she greeted him, as the nurse placed him into her arms.

"Well, Mylady, the young man has a name now. We should use it," the nurse declared. The statement caught Isobel by complete surprise. She had no idea Larry had decided on a name.

"Little Richard is a fine, young man. I'm sure his Lordship's very proud!"

"Of course, he is," Isobel said quickly. "Why wouldn't he?"

"I'll be right back, Mylady. I hope you don't mind looking for him for a few minutes."

Isobel agreed, glad to have the baby for a few minutes for herself. The nurse left the room and through the open door, Isobel could see a wheelchair moving down the hallway. She froze. She had almost forgotten about Annabelle and it was too late to pretend not to have seen her. So she put on a brave face and greeted Annabelle as she approached the door.

"Merry Christmas," Isobel said as kindly as possible.

"Merry Christmas. How is the baby? I know Helen was here to see him, but she never tells me anything unless she wants to."

"He's fine."

"The good Doctor told me, Larry named him after Dickie. How kind of him."

"Yes, it was kind...," and silently she added, 'He was certainly already drunk'. She sincerely hoped Annabelle wouldn't ask her anything she couldn't and didn't wish to answer, but she didn't.

"Helen told me there was an accident. Is Dickie all right?"

"He's going to be all right," Isobel answered truthfully.

Annabelle nodded relieved. "Helen wouldn't tell me what happened, but since he isn't in the hospital, I figured it wasn't too bad. She was quite shaken though..."

If she hoped Isobel would confide in her, when her daughter wouldn't, she was mistaken. Isobel's possessiveness towards her husband coming through, she just said, "I can assure you, he's in good hands."

Annabelle gave Isobel a strange smile. "Spoken like a true nurse."

"Let's say it's a profession that comes in handy," Isobel returned swiftly.

"Oh, so did mine…" Annabelle replied sweetly. "But enough of that. Have a nice evening. I won't ask you to give my best wishes to Dickie. I hope he knows I wish him nothing but the best."

Without waiting for a reply from Isobel, Annabelle wheeled back and Isobel closed the door.

* * *

When his head nurse had told him Isobel had arrived, he had felt his heart missing a beat. He felt like an utter fool and his only plan to deal with his awakening feelings was to avoid her for as long as possible. Of course, that wasn't easy when half of her family needed medical attention, but he had to try.

On his way to his office he noticed Mrs Kent's wheelchair in the doorway to the baby's small ward. He had never seen Isobel and Annabelle together, despite the myth about their so called acquaintance, but now they were having a conversation. He slowed down and wanted to avoid being seen by one of the women. So he lingered on, trying to make no noise. What he picked up from their conversation was not what he had expected. The women were exactly hostile with each other, but they certainly weren't friends either and the reason for it was a simple one: Lord Merton. Apparently the good old friend of the family was, or at least had been much more than just a friend at one time.

What was it with this that he seemed to attract the same women, Clarkson happened to like? And what kind of game was Annabelle Kent playing with him? Last night he had thought she had shown genuine interest in him, not only as a doctor, but also as a man. He had shared her problems with her and she had been nothing but supportive. Had he been a fool to think she could be the woman who just for once might love him back?

When the conversation between the women was over, he withdraw into the dark hallway, hoping Annabelle wouldn't notice him. He needed to digest this new information before he faced her or Isobel... or anyone else.

* * *

"Doctor Clarkson?" After her visit with the baby, Isobel went past Clarkson's office and found the door open. She peeked in and found him sitting behind his desk, staring into nowhere.

He looked up, eventually startled to see her. "Lady Merton."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes. I was just lost in my thoughts," he gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Realizing he didn't wish to talk to her, she shrugged and said, "I wanted to see how Larry is, but he was asleep."

"He's been sleeping almost all day," Clarkson said. "I'll release him tomorrow morning. There's no reason for him stay much longer. He can rest at home."

"He'll be pleased to hear it. What about the baby?"

Clarkson contemplated his next words carefully, "He's doing well. I think you can take him home next week." He had started shuffling around papers that didn't need sorting, just to avoid looking at her. "I guess that's what you still want. Considering Mr Grey's physical and mental condition it's perhaps for the best."

At first she didn't know what to say. Of course, the Doctor had no idea about Larry, Helen and the changed circumstances. Not that she had any idea how their lives would go on now. "It's good to hear the boy is doing fine... We'll see about the rest. Anyway, I'll go home now. Good day, Doctor."

"Good day, Lady Merton," he said, after her steps had faded in the hallway.

 ************tbc*************

 **Thank you very much for your continued support. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

 _Dower House_

Violet Crawley couldn't have been more surprised by a visitor if Spratt had announced the Prime Minister himself, when he told her Lord Merton wanted to see her. Alerted she abandoned her pen and grabbed her walking stick.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Dickie said when he entered the drawing room. "But I think we need to talk."

"Of course. Take a seat." Uneasy she looked at his obvious injury when Spratt helped the Lord out of his coat. "Can I offer you something? Tea perhaps?" she asked.

"No, thank you. I won't be long."

She waited until Spratt had left the room. "What happened?" she asked, uncharacteristically frightened. "Where's Isobel?"

"She's at the hospital," he said and added quickly when he saw how Violet's eyes widened with fear, "To see the child. She's fine."

"But you are obviously not."

"I got shot," Dickie reported dryly. "Last night at Cavenham. It's a long story, but according to Doctor Clarkson there won't be any lasting damage. Anyway, that's not the reason I'm here."

"Well, there aren't too many people who get shot on Christmas Eve," Violet said a little snappy and added, "It's only a wild guess, but is there is a chance that this has something to do with Larry?"

Dickie sighed, "Of course it has and so has my visit." He made a pause and Violet straightened her back, awaiting his request.

"What do you know about a certain Colonel Patrick O'Leary?"

"I see…" Violet carefully leaned her walking stick against her chair. "You're not satisfied with what Isobel's told you about the Irish soldier."

"I want to know what she didn't tell me or to be precise what you didn't tell her. I found a bit about him in Ada's diaries, but after his sudden departure from England she never heard of him again, even though she tried to find him. After her father had passed she hired a detective, but he came up empty. He simply suspected the Colonel had died many years ago and so she had to drop the matter. My suspicion is that he never really looked for him and just took her money."

"So, what makes you think, I know more?"

He smiled, "Please… there's no better secret service than the servant's halls among the British upper class. If there were people who knew about Ada and him, there must be people who know what happened to him."

Violet agreed. "I thought so too. That's why I made some further inquiries and as it happens another a letter reached me on Christmas Eve." She rose and crossed the room. She took a letter from her davenport and unfolded it. "A friend of mine returned from India a few years ago. Her husband's former valet happened to be in the same regiment as Colonel O'Leary. A rather dubious pleasure, if you ask me."

She gave Dickie the letter and said, "As I suspected it the tale of the love struck soldier who was sent to India was the product of a very romantic but unlucky fool. I doubt he ever gave a second thought to the late Lady Merton once his ship had set sail. Patrick O'Leary was a good-for-nothing. He vanished after he lost too much money at the gambling table in a brothel in Bombay and his body turned up three days later. Apparently all of this happened only a few weeks after his arrival."

Dickie sighed and returned the letter. "So, there's nothing redeeming to this story."

"I'm afraid not," Violet confirmed.

Unsatisfied Dickie rose. "Thank you. I think, I'll take my leave now." Violet quickly rang the small bell on her table and followed him across the room.

"May I ask…."

"What I will tell Larry?"

"Actually, I was wondering, if you plan to tell him at all."

Dickie nodded. "Ten years ago my ego would have agreed with you. Today I just want to see my field ordered." He turned away, but Violet wasn't satisfied with his answer.

"Your feelings do you credit, but as far as I know Mrs Rouquette is still a married woman. Do you think it's wise to encourage Larry to go after her?"

"I think you underestimate Helen when you think she depends on Larry to leave her husband."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a hunch, but my guess is Helen has already made plans she told no one else about."

Violet's eyes widened in surprise. "Do you approve?"

He clenched his jaws, "Unfortunately, it's not on me to agree or disagree with anything she does. I doubt I have a right to interfere."

Violet leaned on her walking stick and said, "In my experience we only tell ourselves not to interfere because we fear rejection."

Dickie contemplated her words, but left them uncommented, because Spratt opened the door. "Good day, Violet."

* * *

 _Crawley House_

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening and just as Isobel and Dickie, Helen didn't seem to mind to retire early. At dinner she had informed them over her plans to go back to York the next day and to a degree Isobel was relieved about her leaving. As much as she liked Helen and wished she and Dickie would have more time together, she also missed to have their house just for themselves. Perhaps now their life would go back to normal after the last weeks of snow, death, and turmoil.

She smiled with content when she slipped under her blanket next to Dickie. After spending the last night at Cavenham sleeping in her own bed, surrounded by her own furniture seemed like heaven to Isobel.

"What a day this has been," she said when she pushed the pillow behind her back.

"You can say that again," Dickie sighed with closed eyes. He looked a bit too pale for Isobel's taste and so she touched his cheek with the back of her hand.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Painful."

"You really should have taken Doctor Clarkson's advice and rest more," she said. "Can I get you something?"

He shook his head and took her hand. He placed a kiss on it and said, "It's all right, my dear."

She sank a bit down to be closer to him and placed her hand on his chest. "Where have you been this afternoon when I was at the hospital?" She had asked him before at dinner, but he had never answered her question. Compared to his usual optimistic demeanour he had been quite downcast all evening. Not even the news about Larry naming his son after him could cheer him up. She feared either his health was worse than he told her or something else was bothering him. Whatever it was, she intended to find out what caused his anguish.

"I was at Lady Grantham's," he answered sleepily.

"Violet? Why?"

"I wanted to know, if she knew more about the fate of the infamous Mr O'Leary."

Isobel didn't know how to take his answer. Was he jealous of O'Leary despite all the time that had passed?

"As it turns out the good Colonel died soon after his arrival in India," Dickie continued.

"Oh…"

"I thought, it made be useful to know more about him - in case Larry wants to know."

"You mean, if he cares," Isobel corrected him, a bit relieved his dark mood had nothing to do with Ada. "I bet he won't even believe you."

"I admit that's a possibility."

Silence fell between them and Isobel switched out the light of the lamp beside her. As she usually did at night she snuggled up against him, her arm wrapped around his upper body.

"You know what else keeps me thinking?" he asked, when she thought he had already fallen asleep.

"Tell me."

"Didn't Helen say her husband was going to spend Christmas with her?"

"I think, she did," Isobel agreed after a moment of contemplation.

"Well, Christmas is almost over and I haven't seen or heard about or from her husband. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

"It is odd," Isobel agreed. "Why don't you ask her? Perhaps she has cancelled their plans after her mother's accident and has forgotten to tell us."

"Won't it look as if I'm interfering?" he asked doubtfully. "I don't want her to think I'm trying to control her life. I have no right to do so."

Perhaps she needs someone to do just that, Isobel thought and bent over to kiss his cheek. "Sleep well," she whispered tenderly.

* * *

 _Boxing Day_

"The car's here," Isobel announced as she entered the guest room Helen had stayed in for the last couple of nights.

"Good. I'm ready… At least I think I am, " Helen answered and checked her hand bag.

Isobel closed the door carefully and said, "There's something I wanted to ask you…"

Helen looked up, puzzled. "Well, go ahead."

"When you and your mother were here for dinner you told us your husband would be here for Christmas… Well, Christmas is over and he isn't."

Helen hesitated and Isobel could tell, she was thinking about a fitting explanation. "You have a good memory."

"And so has Dickie… He was wondering about his whereabouts last night. Did your husband change his plans?"

"Well… why didn't he ask me at breakfast?"

"So far his interest in his children's life has never found any favour. He has to get used to it."

"I see…."

Isobel did her best to phrase her next words carefully and without insinuation,"You see, I have this feeling your husband was never supposed to come to England in the first place, wasn't he?"

Helen gasped in surprise, then she smiled, defeated. "I'm not used to be seen through this easily… It was Alain's plan to come to England, but I wrote him to meet me at home. He's on his way to Canada and should arrive tomorrow. He thinks I'm on my way home, too."

"And your children are on their way here and by the time he realizes you tricked him, you're free to… whatever it is you want to do." Isobel concluded, unhappy with her suspicion being confirmed. "Do you really think to outsmart him this way will do you any favour?"

Isobel could read in Helen's face that had asked herself the same questions about a thousand times before and the answer had always been the same. "It's my only chance, if I want to live in peace. You've no idea how unhappy I've been the last couple of years. I don't want to grow old and ask myself why I wasted my life with someone I never loved! Please, don't give me away in case he shows up here."

"I won't have to once he knows what you did. Where do you want to hide? Do you have enough money?"

Helen cut her off, "Forgive me, if I won't tell you what my plans are. The less you know, the better for you. And now I have to go!"

* * *

After Helen had left Crawley House Isobel paid a call to the Dowager and Dickie retreated into the drawing room to read the morning paper. To his annoyance he found himself distracted by the returning memories of the last couple of days. While in retrospect it didn't surprise him that he wasn't Larry's biological father, he couldn't help but to feel betrayed. He was barely a good example or advocate for the noblesse obliége, but Ada's family had used him and left them both trapped in a life they didn't want to live - and all of this because of an unworthy soldier who never cared for Ada in the first place.

That Larry, ungrateful and irresponsible as he was, had also shot him was just another reminder of the misery Dickie had been put through by him and Ada over the years. He was ready to admit that at a certain point he hadn't tried to improve their relationship, because he had simply been sick of Ada and everything connected to her. Still, he was now left with the task of telling Larry the truth, but the one thing that kept him from doing so, was the idea that Helen and Larry could actually become engaged. Did he want her to live a life at Larry's side? Even if Larry truly loved her, he doubted Larry would be able to lead a relationship that wasn't damned to become toxic sooner or later. Knowing first hand what a bad marriage could do to one's self-worth he wanted something better for his daughter.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Tom Branson said, as he entered the room. "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Tom! What a surprise!" Dickie abandoned his paper and rose to greet the younger man.

"Can I offer you anything?"

Tom refused, but took a seat. "No, thank you. I'm on my way to see a tenant of ours. I see you're up and about again."

"I'll live, though I have to admit, it's quite a nuisance." He pointed at his bandage.

"How's Larry?"

"He's at home. Doctor Clarkson's released him this morning."

"I see…." Tom played with his hat, quite unsure how to proceed.

"What can I do for you?" Dickie asked, when he noticed Tom's hesitation.

"I know it sounds silly, but I'm a bit worried."

"About what?"

"Where is it? The gun?" Tom finally asked.

"The gun?" Dickie repeated puzzled.

"Yes, the one Larry did shot you with. I know Isobel had in her bag on Christmas Eve. What happened to it?"

Dickie was lost of words, "Actually, Tom, I have no idea."

* * *

 _Downton Hospital_

After a short visit at the Dower House, Isobel went to the hospital. She wanted to see the baby and in the hallway she ran into Doctor Clarkson whose mood hadn't improved since the day before. On the contrary. When he saw her, a shadow crossed his face. Corresponding to his facial expression was his sour attempt of humour.

"We just call this the 'Merton Hospital'" Clarkson announced when she followed him inside his office. "We put a plate over the door that says 'For the Merton Family and Friends'."

"Forgive me, if I can't share your sense of humour," Isobel snapped and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Annabelle in her wheelchair right in the middle of the rain. This woman was like the plague. Never really gone.

She had been reading a book and raised her head when she saw them. Clarkson either ignored or didn't mind Annabelle overhearing them, because he said, "Oh, you don't have to share my sense of humour, but you can't deny that there's an overwhelming amount of your family - and friends - lodged in here these days."

"You make it sound like a vacation."

"Each to their own. After all you and your husband share an interest in medicine, don't you?"

Isobel ignored his last remark and looked at Annabelle who had followed the little exchange with growing curiosity.

"Hello and goodbye," she said more snappily than she intended and looked back to Clarkson. "I'm going to see your namesake now and you shouldn't forget about your patients!"

She left the room and Clarkson let out a deep sigh.

"So, that's the real problem here," Annabelle said with a widening, but also discouraged smile on her face.

"What do you mean?" Clarkson asked wearily.

"So much for Cruikshank or his infamous lawsuit. Surely, they are a nuisance, but what's really nagging at you is Lady Merton. She is what poisons you."

Clarkson chuckled nervously and did his best to downplay his uneasiness. "If you mean this conversation, it's always been like that. She can be... trying."

"I think I'm aware of Lady Merton's modus operandi by now," Annabelle said. "But as they say, we don't choose who we love."

Clarkson cleared his throat. "I can assure you, that's not it."

Annabelle shrugged, "I think it is… and I hoped… well…. Forget it. I think you wanted to examine my leg. I have the vain hope to leave this backwater as soon as possible."

 *********tbc**********

 **Again thank you for your kind reviews and words of encouragement! It always makes my day to read your thoughts and guesses about what mights happens next!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

 _Crawley House_

When Isobel went upstairs to get ready for dinner, she passed Dickie's study. The door was open and she heard him moving around and railing under his breath. Curious what he was doing in there, she entered the room and found him piling up books on his desk. He had emptied several shelves and with his uninjured arm he picked up one volume after the after to check the title on the back.

"What on earth are you doing in here?" she asked dumbfounded. "You're supposed to take it easy. Is that what you call resting?"

"I'm looking for something," he answered crisply.

"I can see that."

"I should have made more of an effort of sorting them when I moved the books in here."

"Well, why don't we leave that for the spring cleaning?" she asked. "I really don't think you should…"

He cut her off, "Please, it keeps me occupied and my mind off other things. Just let me be."

Astonished Isobel closed the door and went to him. "What is it you're looking for?" she asked and picked up a random volume. "The Scarlet Letter?"

Realizing she was pulling his leg, he looked at her, trying to be annoyed, but the twitching of his lips gave him away. She had already noticed his moodiness when she had returned from the hospital and pinned it on the aftermath of the shooting.

"You've been like this all day. What's wrong?" She closed the distance between them and leaned against him. With a loud sigh he placed the book he had been holding back on the table.

"Do you know how exhausting it is to have a wife who can read your every mood?"

"No, because I don't have a wife. I only happen to have a husband who's been shot and perhaps starts feeling affected by it and I'm not talking about your physical injury."

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "It's not just that," he admitted.

"So, what is it?"

"I had a visit this morning from Tom Branson."

"Tom? What did he want?"

"He asked me about a certain gun he found in your handbag after the shooting."

Isobel's facial expression became blank. "The revolver? He knew it was in my bag? How?"

"He got worried when he couldn't find it where he left it and started looking for it. He didn't mean to snoop around personal belongings, he was just irritated and I can't blame him."

"Well, I couldn't be sure Doctor Clarkson wouldn't call the police and so I hid it," she explained. "Did I do anything wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his lack of understanding clouding his voice. "I think I deserve to know when my wife carries around a revolver!"

She cupped his face with her hands. His reaction was as upsetting to her as it was to him. "Dickie, I didn't even think much about it and I certainly didn't plan to kill anyone," she joked, but a closer look at his eyes told her, the time for jokes was over.

"I left it at Cavenham," she added, now completely serious. "I returned it to the firearm locker in Larry's study where it belongs. If I had any idea Tom had noticed it was missing, I would have told him. You know I don't like guns."

Relieved and satisfied with her explanation he pulled her against him and kissed her. "I'm just glad you didn't keep it here."

"Of course not! I'm so sorry, I worried you."

"I just want to put all of this behind us," he said into her hair. "What would you say if I took you away from here for a few weeks?"

"And where would you take me to?" she asked, glad for the changing of the subject.

"I don't know…. Somewhere south perhaps? France, Italy, Greece…."

"Egypt?" she asked, because she had always wanted to go there.

He chuckled and kissed her head again. "Egypt be it. Though I'm completely happy with the very own squinx in my home."

She chuckled against his chest and leaned back to wrap her arms around his neck. "Are you flirting with me, sir?"

"I think I am."

"In that case I have remind you, sir, that I'm a married woman," she rose to the tip of her toes and placed a kiss on his mouth.

"I think I'll take the risk of a wrathful husband. He would be a fool not to watch out for any competition."

They shared a laugh and then they kissed again - and again until Dickie freed himself from his wife and reminded her about his bad shoulder. "The Doctor ordered me to rest… I doubt he likes the idea of you tempting me like this."

Isobel bat her eyelashes and brushed her lips along his mouth. "If you don't tell him, I won't."

* * *

 _Cavenham Park, the next day_

"Please, take it." Larry showed Helen the revolver, Isobel had so carefully locked away two days ago, and placed it on his desk. His nose was still heavily bandaged and his movements were ponderous as if he were an old man. She had never thought she would see Larry as someone who could be scarred from life, but that was exactly the impression he gave.

"Larry…." Helen looked uneasily at the gun and shook her head. "This thing won't make me feel safe. On the contrary!"

"But you just said, you're afraid of Alain. If he really locates you, you can at least defend yourself!" Larry said. "I won't take 'no' for an answer."

Still not convinced a gun was what she actually needed, Helen took the revolver and hid it in her bag as if it were a stolen item.

"I hope I'll never need it."

"So do I," Larry said.

"When will you leave?" he asked.

"The ship leaves Liverpool on 2nd January and we'll leave York on New Years Day. It's all planned out."

"And your mother?"

Helen shrugged, "She doesn't know anything yet and I won't tell her. She would only spoil things for me. She thinks of Alain as our saviour, not the monster he can be!"

Larry cleared his throat, "I wish I could…"

She silenced him with the raise of her hand, "But we can't… we've established that, haven't we?"

He scoffed and nodded, "Absolutely. I'll never forgive…"

"There's nothing to forgive," Helen told him sternly. "None of us knew we were related and I want you to stop blaming other people for it. If it is anyone's fault, it's my mother's, because she lied about it in the first place." She sighed heavily and looked down on her hands. "Stop being so bitter… I know you can be kind, much kinder than you let on, so please try to be nicer, at least with your family. Your boy will need them when he grows up."

Larry leaned his head back. "My boy…. Why did you want me to call him Richard?"

"Because I like the name and the idea… it's an olive branch, Larry. Use it. Your father… our father loves you and I know you love him. Allow yourself to be loved." She rose and gave him a smile. "I have to go now. It's time."

"Of course." Deliberately slow Larry got to his feet and groaned from the explosion of pain in his head.

He led Helen across the room, but both stopped dead in their tracks when suddenly the door opened and a footman came in.

"His Lordship's here, Sir," the servant announced.

"Thank you…." Larry said annoyed.

"Perfect," Helen mumbled and put on a smile when Dickie entered the room.

"Good morning…." Dickie entered the room and his voice trailed off when he saw Larry wasn't alone. His eyes wandered from Helen to Larry and back, asking the inevitable question.

"I did not stay here overnight," Helen said quickly. "I just came here to pick something up I had forgotten on Christmas Eve."

Dickie accepted her explanation with a shrug, "I guess it doesn't really matter, but I'm glad to see you both. We have to talk…."

* * *

 _Downton Hospital, New Years Day_

Richard Clarkson didn't trust his eyes when the door to his office opened and Isobel came in. He had been reading an article in the latest issue of a medical journal, but he had a hard time concentrating. After a busy night New Years day had been a quite affair and he had the used the calm evening to catch up on his reading. After Baby Grey, Richard Grey, had finally been released this morning he hadn't thought to see her back so soon. On the contrary. In the last couple of days his impression of her being glad for a break from him and the hospital had become painfully obvious.

"Lady Merton…," he rose and gave her a smile. He couldn't help it, because this evening she looked more beautiful to him than ever before. Her dark blue dress underlined the sparkling of her eyes and her blonde curls shone golden in the light of the flickering fire.

"Doctor Clarkson, am I interrupting something?" she asked, as she approached his desk.

"No, no." With a swift motion he abandoned the journal in the drawer and closed it. "What can I do for you?"

"I needed to see you," she said and bit her lip. "Something's happened and I don't know how to…." she drew a deep breath and shrugged. "I just need you…"

Sure, he couldn't be hearing this right, he surrounded his desk with weak knees. He stopped right in front of her and his heart missed a beat when her perfume reached his nose. As always her scent was intoxicating.

"You need me? Is someone hurt?" he asked, knowing this time she didn't come to see him as a doctor. This time she wanted the man.

"No one's been hurt but you," she said lowly and touched his cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry."

Her touch made him shiver and he felt himself leaning against her hand. "It doesn't matter," he said. "You're here now."

"I'll always be here from now on," she said and leaned in. Her lips touched his mouth and his body was instantly on fire. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until he was breathless. This was the answer to all of his dreams. Finally, she was loving him back and all the misunderstandings and harsh words were forgotten. Mindless his hands roamed her body, exploring every detail of her delicate curves.

When he felt his head was spinning, he finally, finally pulled back. He was lost of words, unable to think straight and so he just smiled at her and took her hands. He wanted to take her away from his office and the hospital to a place where they could be alone and undisturbed. "You never cease to amaze me," he whispered hoarsely, as he blindly took his head from cloak hanger and all of the sudden he wasn't talking to Isobel Grey, he was talking Annabelle Kent - and he didn't mind. She wore the same dress and looked every inch as perfect as isobel had and he didn't mind at all. "I've waited for you all my life," he said. "You're all I ever wanted."

"I know," Annabelle answered and grabbed him by collar to kiss him again. "Because you're the man I've been waiting for all my life. I never loved anyone like I love you - not even Dickie Merton."

Clarkson returned her kiss with ardent passion. She tasted of Scottish whiskey, his favourite brand and he was in heaven. "Say that again," he whispered into her mouth.

"I love you."

Then there was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Suddenly the room around him got cold. The lights faded and the fire was dying.

"Doctor Clarkson, you must wake up." He heard a voice from far far away, while the image of Annabelle faded.

Disorientated he opened his eyes. The room was indeed cold and it was dark outside. He saw the rising moon through the icy glass of the window.

His head nurse was talking to him, but he barely heard her. His sense were still located in the strange dream he just had and didn't want to adjust to reality. Not just yet. He had been too warm, too comfortable, and too happy in this other world to leave it so abruptly.

"Doctor, you should go home. It's late," the nurse repeated again. Her gentle voice became a more harsh and he wished she vanished and left him alone.

"Thank you, Nurse," he said and stretched his aching back. His chair had been the wrong place to fall asleep and the worst place to dream about… He cleared his throat, embarrassingly aware of the painful bulge in his trousers. Perhaps some fresh air would do him well. He certainly needed to clear his head. "I'll go home soon."

"You should, Doctor," the nurse said and left him alone - finally. He groaned, annoyed with himself.

His gaze fell into his desk. There was a pile of letters he hadn't read yet. Perhaps the sight of bills could help him to get rid off the visions of his dream. He took the first letter, opened it, and didn't trust his eyes….

* * *

 _Cavenham Park_

Isobel and Dickie stood at the cradle in the nursery and looked down on the sleeping baby.

"I think he likes his new home," Dickie said quietly.

"It seems like it," Isobel agreed with a smile.

"So, you're not upset Larry's taken him home?" Dickie asked and ran his hand gently over her back.

She shook her head. "No. With Helen at Larry's side, I'm confident little Richard will be fine. Though it was a tempting thought to have a baby at the house."

"I understand you, but you know what makes me all the more happy?"

"What is it?" she asked and looked up to him.

"This house is filled with life again. With Helen's children being here, even if they're in hiding as long as Helen's husband is on the warpath, there's more love and fun in this house than there has been in decades."

"As long as this doesn't mean we have to move in here, I'm glad to agree."

Dickie chuckled. "No, we'll stay we are. Your home is my home now."

"And that makes me very happy," she said and kissed him.

Their tender embrace was interrupted by loud voices from downstairs. Isobel and Dickie broke apart and exchanged a bewildered look.

"Is someone down there shouting?" Isobel wondered. They quickly left the room and looked down the gallery to see what was happening downstairs.

"It's Mr Cruikshank," Dickie whispered when he recognized the bald-headed figure of Amelia's father who followed Larry into the living room under the watchful eyes of the servants.

Together they rushed downstairs and followed Larry and his unwelcome guest inside. As expected Larry and his father-in-law were in the middle of a heated argument. Helen who had brought her children to bed and was supposed to stay for dinner was watching them with growing unease.

"My grandchild won't be raised here!" Cruikshank shouted. "He belongs to us!"

"You know, you have no claim on him," Larry answered nastily. "As long as I'm alive my son stays with me. For every other possibility I've made certain arrangements."

Cruikshank's gaze fell on Helen who still stood near the fireplace. Her face had lost its colour and Isobel left Dickie's side to go to her.

"I think that's enough for tonight," Dickie stepped in.

"No, Sir!" Cruikshank barked. "If you think I'll be leaving this son without my grandson you're very well mistaken."

"Of course, we can call the police to escort you out," Dickie said. "But I think that would end up rather embarrassing for everyone involved."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm merely suggesting you should reconsider your approach of the situation." Dickie said, his eyes fixated on Cruikshank.

"Humbug!" Cruikshank barked. "You may think I'm not aware of how your son treated my daughter, you're very well mistaken."

"And what do you mean by that?" Larry asked coldly.

Cruikshank made a an appraising gesture at Helen and spat, "Don't you think I don't know you're his whore and have been for years? You're just like your mother. Cheap and without dignity and you won't raise my flesh and blood!"

"I beg your pardon?" Enraged Helen marched forward. Isobel tried to get hold of her hand to keep her from doing or saying something she might regret, but she was too late.

"What did you just say about my mother?" Helen asked, her eyes glittering with fury.

"I think you heard me," Cruikshank said and stepped closer to Helen. He as close enough to touch her, something that made Larry visibly nervous.

"I suggest, we…."

"No, let him talk," Helen said calmly. She towered over Cruikshank by several inches. "Let Mr Cruikshank get this off his chest."

Cruikshank reached inside his jacket and pulled out a letter. He dangled it in front of Helen's nose like a carrot. "Your mother wrote me a letter. I didn't recognize her at first, but as soon as it dawned to me who she was, I made some enquiries about her - and you. She's delusinal, if she thinks, she can blackmail me. She thinks, she can make me go on my knees? Well, go and tell her I'm not to one who belongs on their knees. That's her job and yours."

Isobel gasped upon the insult and Helen started to laugh. "That's as disgusting as it gets." She grabbed the letter and turned away.

"You bloody bastard!" Larry grabbed Cruikshanks collar and pushed him away. The older man struggled and fell backwards on the floor.

"Larry!" Isobel shouted and turned to Dickie, "Just call the police!"

Cruikshank bobbed up. His head had turned red as a tomato and he pushed Dickie aside as he stormed towards Larry.

"I wouldn't do that." The sound of the revolver cocking right behind his ear made Cruikshank stop in his tracks.

"Helen!" Isobel placed her hand over her mouth as she watched Helen standing behind Cruikshank. The barrel of the revolver she was holding penetrated the spot right behind his ear.

"One word, one wrong move and you won't have to worry about blackmail," Helen said calmly.

"Helen, put the gun down," Dickie said hoarsely. "You're only making it worse."

Helen shrugged unimpressed. "I doubt that. Men like him are the worst." She leaned and hissed into Cruikshank's ear. "Do you think anyone will mourn for you? I doubt anyone would miss you, if we buried you here in the park."

All of the sudden sweat was running down Cruikshank's forehead. "Please…."

"Are you begging? Why don't you go on your knees?" Helen suggested sweetly and watched with growing satisfaction how Cruikshank obeyed her orders.

Larry, isobel, and Dickie watched the whole scene with open mouths.

"Larry, why don't you write down a disclaimer for your father-in-law?" she suggested. "I'm sure at this point he'll sign anything to save his useless life."

Perplexed Larry just nodded while Isobel stepped next to Helen and placed her hand on Helen's arm. "Helen, please. I think you made your point."

"Not just yet," Helen insisted without taking her eyes from Cruikshank. Dickie and Isobel exchanged a desperate look, but it was obvious that Helen wouldn't back down before Cruikshank had signed the agreement.

As quickly as possible, Larry wrote the disclaimer Helen had proposed and pushed it together with a pen over the desktop.

"Get up and sign it," Helen ordered. Wobbly the old man rose to his feet. As soon as he had signed the paper, Larry tore it away from him and Helen lowered the gun.

She gave it to Isobel who took it with gingerly and stepped back, afraid someone could grab it again.

"Bloody, little whore!" Cruikshank groaned when he was sure the revolver was out of Helen's reach. He raised his arm and slapped Helen at full tilt with the back of his hand. A cry escaped her throat when she fell backwards and her head hit the edge of the table.

Isobel yelled and rushed to Helen's side. Blood squattered from a wound at her temple. Helen groaned with pain and wanted to get up, but Isobel pushed gently pushed her back on the floor.

"Don't move. Let me look at your head!"

While Isobel examined the wound, she heard how the men behind her continued quarreling. Larry and Cruikshank yelled at each other at the top of their lungs and then all of the sudden she heard one final punch, a loud cry, and then there was silence. Irritated she looked behind herself and saw that Cruikshank was lying on the floor, unconscious.

"What happened?" she asked, as she reached out to check his pulse. He was alive.

Larry looked at his father, almost in admiration and said, "I think Father, just punched the lights out of him."

Isobel swallowed. Dickie was holding his shoulder with his left hand.

It had been his first day without his sling.

"I told you," Dickie said fairly proud of himself despite the obvious pain in his shoulder. "In 1873 my punch was legendary."

 *********tbc**********

 **So, my dear readers this was the penultimate chapter to a story that turned out to be quite a beast. I enjoyed writing every sentence of it and I certainly hope you liked reading it. Let me know what you think!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

"Seriously?" Clarkson asked, after he had entered the drawing room. His eyes roamed the room and with every detail they uncovered his disbelief grew. Helen Rouquette had a bleeding head wound, Mr Cruikshank lay on the floor, blood perhaps unconscious, and Dickie Merton was sitting near the fireplace. He was pressing his left hand against his injured shoulder.

He gave Isobel a look that spoke volumes about his mood. "Do I even want to know?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she admitted a little embarrassed. "Perhaps it would be best, if you looked after Mr Cruikshank first."

"When did he pass out?" he asked when he sank down next to him and checked his pulse.

"Right before I telephoned," Isobel answered.

Carefully Clarkson palpated Cruikshank's head. "I think his jaw is broken," he said. "But I have to examine him in the hospital." He looked up to Larry who was standing next to Helen. He was holding her hand, a gesture that clearly aroused Clarkson's irritation.

"Mr Grey, please the men outside to bring a stretcher for your father-in-law."

Larry not used to taking orders from anyone, hesitated, but did as asked, when Helen encouraged him with a wave of her hand.

"And what happened to you?" Clarkson asked, when he removed the handkerchief Helen had been pressing against her temple.

"I stumbled and hit my head."

He scoffed, "Of course, you did. Let me guess, you and Mr Cruikshank stumbled over the same chair and he hit someone's fist and you hit the edge of a table."

Helen grinned despite the pain in her head, "You're such a mind reader. It was an unfortunate accident."

He shook his head in annoyance and turned to Isobel, "Do you want to take care of it? Disinfect the wound and apply a small bandage. Mrs Rouquette was lucky. It's just a small cut."

"Of course."

He turned back to Helen and said, "Please, do come to the hospital, if you feel nauseous or dizzy."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Clarkson moved over to Dickie, while Isobel collected everything she needed out of his doctor's bag.

"Didn't I tell you, you could remove the sling, if you took it easy?" he asked as he examined Dickie's shoulder. "A childish punch-up doesn't fit that description!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dickie said as nonchalantly as his pain allowed it. "All I did was a little stretching."

"A little stretching?" Clarkson laughed. "Well, that's another week with the sling and if it still hurts like this tomorrow, you'll see me at the hospital. Or perhaps you'd prefer, if I just moved in here or in Crawley House. It would be more convenient for me to be nearby than rushing over in the middle of the night every time, your family has a disagreement."

 _Downton Hospital, two days later_

With an uneasy feeling Isobel entered the hospital. With the morning post she had received a note from Doctor Clarkson who asked for a meeting in his office during the afternoon. She had no idea what he wanted to talk about and she didn't exactly looked forward to their meeting. Since Amelia's father was still in the hospital with his jaw fixated, she would have preferred to stay away as far as possible for the time being. She had no desire to see the devious man who had treated them all so poorly.

He instantly called her in when she knocked softly at his office door.

"What is it you wanted to see me about?" she asked, after they had exchanged their greetings and she had settled on the chair in front of his desk.

"I wanted to show you this," he said and gave her the letter he had received shortly before New Year's Day.

"What is it?" she asked puzzled.

"A job offer."

"A job offer?" she repeated stunned and quickly browse through the letter. "Canada…" Surprised she folded the paper and gave it back to him. "Well, I guess that means your reputation precedes you!" It was a useless compliment and they both knew it. Only someone with Annabelle Kent's money and connection could have promoted Clarkson's name for such a position.

"Do you think so?" he asked doubtfully.

"Actually, my guess is someone with the right connections has mentioned your name in the right places. It's a very lucrative post. Becoming head physician in a such a big house is a privilege!"

"I agree. Of course, you would know that…." He leaned back in his chair and watched her closely.

She suddenly understood his implication and said, "Before you ask, neither my husband nor I asked Mrs Kent to pull any kind of strings. It must have been her idea, which means you made an impression on her."

He drew a deep breath."As always you're reading my mind. I was afraid you wanted to get rid off me."

She gently shook her head. "Though I admit you've been testing my patience quite often these days."

"And vice versa."

"I can't think why," she said half-amused. "The question is what will you do about it?" She pointed at the letter on the table.

"About Mrs Kent's motivation or the job offer?"

"Both."

"Do you care?"

Isobel could tell from the glitter in his eyes that this was the crucial question for him. "I do care," she replied truthfully. "As a friend. I want for you to be happy and if moving to Canada to become a grand doctor at the side of Mrs Kent makes you happy, I'll support you."

"And if I decide to stay?"

"Then I'm sure my family and I will find a way to keep you occupied," she replied with a wide smile.

He chuckled, "I was afraid you would say something like that." Then he became serious again. "But honestly… I admit the offer is tempting, but…"

"But?"

"I don't think I want to leave Downton. Not just yet."

She accepted his statement with a nod. "That leaves the matter of Mrs Kent. Did you talk to her about it?"

"Not yet…" he admitted. With curiosity she registered his hesitation, but she didn't want to overplay her hand. So far their conversation had been more friendly than it had been in weeks and she didn't want to risk to change that.

"Do you want to talk about it or should I mind my own business?"

He moved in his chair, the uneasiness written all over his face. "Sometimes I think I'll never understand women," he finally said. "And to be frank I'm not ready to consider a future with someone who's perhaps in love with someone else."

Isobel swallowed. She knew what he was hinting at and it ruffled her feathers. She knew it didn't really mattered, if Annabelle was still in love with Dickie, as long as he was not in love with her, but it still bothered her to think about it. Yet over the last couple of days she had questioned Annabelle's true intentions more than once. What if she was just someone who had never learned to move on?

"You shouldn't mistake nostalgia with sentiment," she said.

"Perhaps she does mistake one for the other. Whatever it is, I'm not prepared to endure an ordeal like that and then there's of course the fact, that I'm nothing more than country doctor while she is a rich widow."

Isobel thought of Annabelle and her infamous past. The woman had risen through the ranks and had worked herself to the top. Would Clarkson accept her past or would it bother him? She honestly couldn't tell. Then she thought about Dickie. He had never cared for her breeding or her past. He had always just loved her the way she was, no questions asked while Clarkson had still been holding prejudices towards Dickie and his aristocratic background.

"I doubt it matters to her who you are," she said. "If she cares for you, she'll accept you. Come what may."

"So you suggest I face the abyss?" he asked.

"The luck is with the brave," she said and rose. For a reason she couldn't quite name, she felt the need to go home and see Dickie.

He rose as well. "If only that were true," he said on their way out.

In the hallway Isobel was surprised to see Dickie who was talking to the head nurse.

"Ah, there you are!" He thanked the nurse and met Isobel and Clarkson in front of his office.

"What are you doing here?" Isobel asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really, but I wanted to ask a favour of Doctor Clarkson," Dickie said.

"How can I be of help?" the doctor asked amazed. "Or should I ask who of your family is injured today?"

Dickie shook his head, "No, for a change no one's hurt, but I need a private place to talk to Mrs Kent. I thought, we could use your office, if you don't mind. It's urgent."

Isobel gave Dickie a questioning gaze that he answered with a small shrug, something that didn't exactly calmed her rising worry. Clarkson wasn't all too happy with the request himself, but couldn't think of a good enough reason to decline.

"Of course, if it doesn't take too long. I'll ask the nurse to tell her where you wait for her."

Clarkson left and Isobel stepped next to Dickie. "What is it?" she asked in the lowest possible voice.

"It's about Helen's husband," Dickie whispered back. "She got a telegram today from a friend of hers in Canada. Apparently Alain has hired Pinkerton agents to find her."

"Oh my god!"

"She and Larry prepare to flee the country. Someone has to tell Annabelle and preferable without Cruikshank noticing it. I wouldn't put it past him to destroy their plans."

"I agree…" she said with hesitation in her voice. So much for her going home to spend time with her husband.

"I want to talk to her on my own. I promise I won't be long." He bent down to kiss her cheek. For a short moment she leaned her cheek against his and said, "I'll wait for you."

On her way back home, Isobel made a small detour over the cemetery. During the days with heavy snowfall the small path had been almost impassable, but with the arrival of warmer temperatures the snow had started melting. Isobel had missed her regular visits at Matthew's grave and it seemed Violet shared her sentiment. She stood, heavily leaning on her walking stick, at Sybil's grave and seemed lost in her thoughts. Seeing the lonely figure in front of the gravestone of her youngest granddaughter reminded Isobel of how little she had seen of her friend since Christmas and it made her feel a little guilty.

"A guinea for your thoughts," Isobel said when she stopped next to her.

"I think you're exaggerating their value," Violet answered wearily. "It's all so useless, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Isobel wondered.

"Being alive and old while the young are dead."

"That's quite morbid. What's brought this on?" Isobel asked. "Did something happen?"

Violet shrugged, "No, nothing's happened. I just find myself quite mawkish today. Must be the winter taking its toll."

"Can I invite you for nice cup of hot tea then?" Isobel asked. "After my visit with Doctor Clarkson I deserve one."

Isobel's remark clearly aroused Violet's interest. "What did he say?" she asked with pursed lips. "Did he finally declare his undying love for you?"

"Our conversation wasn't so much about love, as it was about lacking the courage to live it."

Violet scoffed, "That sounds like a phrase from one of these infamous love novels you hear about these days."

"When you want to hear about it, let's go back to the house," Isobel suggested. "There's also news about Larry and Helen."

"There's no need to convince me to have a cup of tea served with gossip about another infamous love story," Violet quipped as she followed Isobel down the path.

"You would be surprised about what love can do to people," Isobel said.

Violet wasn't impressed. "I've seen enough of it during my time. These days I prefer a good book to people. Thank you."

 _Downton Hospital_

Annabelle Kent entered the office of Doctor Clarkson on crutches. Dickie who had stood at the window turned around when he heard the door opening.

"Let me help you," he offered, when he saw her struggling with the crutches and the chair, but she declined with a shake of her head.

"I have to get used to them," she said as she slowly lowered herself onto the chair.

Dickie, a little nervous about the upcoming conversation took a seat on the other chair.

"Your message sounded urgent," Annabelle said. "How can I help?"

Glad, the start of their conversation was smoother than he had expected, he said, "I'm here, because there's been a development."

Annabelle didn't seem surprised or curious. On the contrary, there was a coldness in her voice that lowered his hopes instantly. "A development? You mean Helen's finally managed to make her life as miserable as possible?"

Dickie bent his head. "I'm not sure that's how she would describe it."

She snorted bitterly, "So, how would you describe it, since you see to know her and her life so well?"

"I know, you think I have no right to have an opinion, but Helen's asked me to talk to you."

"I'd rather have you talking sense into her, but you seem to think that you playing nice with her, will grant you her affections. Well, it won't. I tried."

Dickie didn't agree. It was as easy as Annabelle made it sound. On the contrary. "I'm not playing nice with her, but I know what it means to be unhappily married. Why should waste her life just because you want so save your late husband's company? Alain's being dreadful to her and the children and now he's chasing them down. Is that the kind of life you want for them?"

Annabelle swallowed. Taken aback, she opened her mouth and closed it again, when she failed to phrase what was on her mind.

"Larry and Helen want to leave England. Larry has connections to Rhodesia."

"Rhodesia?" She asked. "Do you have any idea how far…."

"Yes, I know how far away it is," Dickie confirmed. "But perhaps they won't even be safe there, if Alain is really as determined to find them. It's the risk they have to take."

"Says the man who's never taken any risk in his life." The bitterness in her voice was unmistakable.

"Just because I didn't take the right risks at the right time, doesn't mean our daughter has to do the same. If it's money you worry about, I'm sure we can make an arrangement."

Annabelle shook her head, almost insulted. "You won't pay me ever again for anything."

"So, what is what you're looking for?" Dickie asked. "Why are you so bitter?"

"I'm not bitter," Annabelle clarified. "I just doubt Larry will make her happy. What does it change that he isn't your biological son? Nothing! He's just like Ada, a miserable creature who poisons anything he touches. Alain might not be the best husband, but he's a safe choice."

Dickie didn't want to agree with Annabelle's reasoning. For the first time he realized that she had never really moved on from their past. She was emotionally stuck in her former life - and her the pain he had mostly caused her. Her memories about him and Ada made her blind for the present and the future. But should Helen or anyone else had to suffer because Annabelle was still hurting and not ready to forgive?

"I agree that Larry's a lot like Ada and he has been miserable for most of his life, but I still think they belong together. Helen is exactly the woman he needs to become a more decent person than he is now. Ada became nasty, because she wasted her life on a man who never loved her and died in a filthy bar in Bombay. Wouldn't you agree that we all did much better, if we lived our lives the way we want to, instead of how we're told to do by society or stuff conventions?"

Annabelle wiped a tear from her cheek. "When I was young I thought so, too… but now… look at us. Two old people with the baggage of a lifetime on their back. Your life may be better now, but for me nothing has changed aside from my bank account, which isn't a lot of help when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm stuck in a world where I can't have everything I want. I never could."

He felt sorry for her and that was perhaps the worst what a man could feel for a woman he once loved. There was no tenderness left for her, just pity and the wish to make it up to her in away she would never accept. He couldn't change a thing about her life as it was, but what he could do was helping his daughter.

"But why should Helen and Larry don't get a chance? Don't they deserve better than we did?"

"You're a hopeless romantic." She laughed and he gave her his handkerchief to dry her cheeks.

"I'm just trying to make things better for... well, my children, because that's what they both are."

"I guess that's true. Even if that's not the way I imagined things to turn out."

"Life's full of surprises. That makes it interesting."

"Never mind." She took her time to collect her thoughts, before she continued. After a minute of silence and a deep breath, she said, "Tell Helen, there's no reason to elope to Rhodesia. I'll write to Alain, I'll offer him my shares of the company. Perhaps that way he'll be persuaded to give up on Helen and the children. I think he's greedy enough to accept. My attempt to get Cruikshank out of the way didn't do much good, but perhaps I'm more lucky with Alain Rouquette."

"Are you sure?" Dickie asked, a bit unconvinced.

"No, but it's a chance," she answered.

He nodded and Annabelle grabbed for her crutches. Always the gentleman Dickie rose and helped her.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked, when he got hold of her elbow to support her while she tried to balance herself.

"No, I don't think so, unless you happened to find your wife's manual on how handling stubborn, Scottish doctors," she answered.

Dickie contemplated her words for a moment and then it dawned to him what she truly meant. If Clarkson and Annabelle were to become an item it would kill two birds with one stone. "Isobel happened to mention he likes his share of Scottish whiskey."

"Well, in that case Alain has to allow me enough money to buy the distillery. Don't you think Lady Merton could give him permission?"

 _Crawley House_

When Dickie returned home he found Isobel in the drawing room. In front of a pleasant fire she was reading a book. When she heard him entering she looked up, smiled, and closed her volume.

"There you are!" she said when he bent down to kiss her forehead.

"What are you reading?" he asked curiously and picked up the book to read the tile on the back. "The Scarlet Letter?" He crooked his eyebrow, which caused her to chuckle. By the time he settled into his favourite chair she had sobered up and asked, "What did you and Annabelle talk about?"

"We argued about Helen and Larry, but in the end she agreed to support their decision to stay together."

Isobel was impressed. "I'm pleased to hear it. What did you have to do to convince her?"

Dickie shrugged, "I appealed to her faith in love."

"Oh my…. How romantic," she quipped.

"Don't tease me, I'm serious," he said. "She also asked me to tell you to give Doctor Clarkson permission to court her. Her words, not mine," he added when he saw the perplexed expression on her face.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"I think her idea is not so bad."

"You want me to play matchmaker for Mrs Kent and Doctor Clarkson?" Isobel asked in disbelief.

"Why not? Unless, of course, you have other plans for him…." Unsure whether he was teasing or testing her, she rose, and went to his chair. With a coy smile she bent down to kiss him. The eager way he responded to her kiss told her everything she needed to him. He was teasing her as she was teasing him.

"What if I told, I've already done so?" she asked, brushing her lips against his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

She kissed him again. "I told Doctor Clarkson to face the abyss." She chuckled and lured him into another kiss.

"Is that true?" He gently touched her face and rose to his feet. "How is it that you're always one step ahead of me?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shrugged. "It's female intuition," she said and added, "Do you know what else I've taken care of?"

"Enlighten me…."

"I gave the servants the evening off. Each and every one of them. They think we're invited at the Dower House."

"I guess that means you've made other arrangements for us for tonight..."

"Yes… they involve the two of us and a bottle of wine… upstairs."

"That's the best plan I've ever heard of!" he said and kissed her again.

 *******tbc********

 **So, I decided I will add one more tiny chapter after this one. I could have wrapped the story in this chapter, but I decided not to rush the plot. Thanks for your feeback. I really appreciate it!**


	21. Chapter 21

**So, here it is, the final chapter. I hope you enjoy it and I also hope I could surpise you with the ending. I know some of you want this story to go, but I really have to finish a story, before I get tired of it, and I think I found the right moment to do so.**

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

 _Downton Hospital, the next day_

It was a strange congregation that gathered in the men's ward in Downton Hospital that late morning. Dickie, Isobel, Helen, Larry, and Doctor Clarkson had been summoned by Sergeant Willis and stood around Amelia Cruikshank's father's bed. The man's jaw was heavily fixated and he was unable to speak, which didn't keep him from flourishing his hands in an attempt to make himself and his feelings known. Isobel noticed with amused satisfaction that the man's face was flustered from the frustration of not being able to express himself. The man clearly wasn't used to be in the weaker position and he didn't look as if he appreciated the new perspective.

"Why don't you let me explain why we're all here, Mr Cruikshank?" the policeman asked in his usual slow manner.

"I have to advise you to keep quiet," Clarkson said to Cruikshank. "Otherwise your injuries won't heal and the more you try to speak, the more it hurts."

"I don't understand why we are here," Larry said, visibly bored.

"You are here, Mr Grey, because Mr Cruikshank has written a complaint to the police." Willis reached inside his pocket and unfolded a letter. "He says the two of you…," he pointed at Dickie and Larry, "have brutally assaulted him, which led to his unfortunate condition. I thought it's maybe best we try to clear this up face to face."

"That's ridiculous!" Isobel said quick-tempered and gave Cruikshank a nasty look. "If someone should make a complaint, it's Larry. After all Mr Cruikshank trespassed Cavenham that night."

"I agree!" Helen snapped.

"Well, according to Mr Cruikshank's statement here, he wanted to visit his grandson when young Mr Grey here first denied him entrance, threatened him, and then Lord Merton punched him, which led to a broken jaw."

Cruikshank nodded with whimper and clenched his fist at Dickie who instinctively bent a bit backwards.

"Is there anything you want to say to defend yourself, Lord Merton? Assault is a serious accusation." Willis looked at Dickie who seemed a bit overwhelmed.

"Do you really want to know what happened?" Isobel jumped to her husband's defense. Her hand lay on his wrist; a soft order for him to keep quiet.

"If you were there, Lady Merton, and saw what happened, please, enlighten us," Willis said, pulling out his pen and a small notebook.

Everyone suddenly stared at Isobel who cleared her throat and said, "Well, when Mr Cruikshank entered the house, Lord Merton and I were upstairs. We heard the noise Mr Cruikshank made and went downstairs to see what was going on. Larry and Mr Cruikshank were arguing about the baby. Mr Cruikshank became more and more upset, lost his temper, and hit Mrs Rouquette when she wanted to interfere. As a result she was bleeding."

Helen nodded pointed at the small, but still visible cut at her temple. "That's true. In a fit of temper, he hit me and I stumbled backwards. He came after me and stumbled over the leg of a chair. He hit his jaw at the table. It made a horrible noise!" She pretended to shudder and said, "Aside from that, how could Lord Merton have punched anyone? He's been wearing a sling since Christmas."

"Right!" Isobel agreed and Dickie opened his coat to show Sergeant Willis his injured arm.

"May I ask what happened to you on Christmas, Sir?" Willis asked Dickie.

"That was a rather embarrassing accident, Sergeant," Dickie said slowly.

"He fell down the staircase at Cavenham," Larry explained nonchalantly. He pointed at his nose. "I fell as well, when I tried to help him up."

"Doctor Clarkson was there that night. He can confirm it," Isobel said quickly and hoped her lie wouldn't backfire on her. Clarkson was the only one who could help them to discredit Cruikshank's statement, but she wasn't sure he would lie for them, even if Cruikshank had threatened the Doctor more than once since Amelia died. Clarkson established eye contact with her and she instantly knew he wasn't happy with her hasty lie.

"Can you confirm that?" Willis looked curiously at the Doctor.

"Yes, I can," Clarkson said with a sigh. "With his bad arm Lord Merton couldn't have punched anyone. I think Mr Cruikshank has mixed up some of the facts. It happens when people hit their heads."

"All right then." Willis ignored Cruikshank's outburst and closed his notebook. He seemed satisfied with Clarkson's explanation. "I figured it must have happened that way." He bent down to the unhappy patient and patted his shoulder.

"Mr Cruikshank, I think you should try to get some rest - unless, of course, Mrs Rouquette here wants to make a complaint. In that case I would have to arrest you as soon as you're ready to leave the hospital."

Now everyone looked at Helen who glared at Cruikshank. "I think I'll put mercy before justice," she said after a short hesitation. "After all, Mr Cruikshank was just worried about his grandchild. I'm sure he's sorry for everything he did that night."

"Well, that's very generous of you," Willis said and looked down at Cruikshank who was either out of energy or too shocked to protest.

"If there isn't anything else, I have to go back to my patients," Clarkson said. Willis nodded and bid the doctor goodbye.

"I think that settles everything." The policeman said and looked at his watch. "Almost time for lunch. Have a good day!"

With a tip against his head, he bid the others goodbye and left. Larry looked down at Cruikshank, as if he were ready to punch him.

"Let's go. Leave him alone. Sooner or later someone will kill him anyway."

"Maybe, but until then I'll make sure, he won't see his grandson. Not once," Larry hissed. Gently Helen took Larry's arm and led him outside.

"I think going home is a good idea," Dickie said and offered Isobel his healthy arm.

"Why don't you follow Helen and Larry, while I go and thank Doctor Clarkson?" she asked.

"Just don't thank him for too long," Dickie said, as he kissed her cheek. "But thank him for me. He saved me from a lifetime in prison."

"Now, don't exaggerate. Perhaps he saved you from a week in prison."

Isobel found Clarkson in the hallway where he talked to one of the nurses. Isobel waited until she had left, before she approached him.

"You owe me," was all the Doctor said.

"How about a bottle of Scottish whiskey?" Isobel asked. "I'll even make sure Mrs Kent delivers it!"

"Very funny."

"I mean it," she said as they strolled down the corridor. "I'm grateful. Without you Mr Cruikshank could have made life very difficult for us."

"I can't say I approve of violence, but it seems he asked for it. Anyway, it seems the matter is closed."

"Hopefully," she mused.

"There's something else, I've been thinking about," Clarkson said. "Yesterday you were talking about mixing up love with nostalgia."

"I remember."

"Well, I'm sure that's not what happened - at least not to me." They stopped in front of his office.

Isobel, now a bit flustered, shrugged. "Well, even in that case, my advice still applies. Luck favours the brave."

"I believe, you're right."

He smiled, nodded, and entered his office.

* * *

 _Downton Village, Church of St. Michaels of All Angels,_

 _five months later_

The day of the wedding was a beautiful spring day. For the first time in weeks the sun came out, finally defeating the cloudy, English sky and its customary rain.

The congregation in the church was small, but so it had been at Isobel and Dickie's wedding almost two years ago. It was just the family and a handful, well-picked amount of guests. After the announcement of the wedding about four weeks ago, there had been a lot of wagging tongues around the village. Isobel had rather enjoyed to observe how people had risen their eyebrows in surprise or in disapproval, depending on how everyone looked at the liason. Truth was, it was a strange situation for everyone involved. Dickie seemed glad, things were about to get settled once and for all. Helen seemed opaquely uncaring, and Larry was almost tame as a kitten these days. After Dickie had told him the truth about his inglorious true Irish heritage, Larry had been more humble than Isobel had ever believed him to be, but she strongly suspected, it was the pure fear of being exposed as an Irish bastard that keeped him and his temper in check. The one person who really had a field day with the wedding plans was the Dowager Countess. Her delight as soon as she news about the upcoming ceremony became common knowledge had been almost unbearable.

"So, how does it feel to be rid of him?" she had asked, almost choking on her tea.

"How should it feel according to your imagination?" Isobel had returned the question with growing annoyance. "I hope for Doctor Clarkson, Annabelle is serious about her commitment to him!"

"I'm sure she is, and if not, the Doctor won't have to worry about his about his financial future. I heard Mrs Kent is richer than a Rothchild. She could maintain three of his sort, if she wanted too."

"How reassuring for her," Isobel had said, perfectly aware of how rich Annabelle truly was after her son-in-law had agreed to buy her shares of the company. Part of the settlement had involved for Annabelle, Helen, and her children to leave Canada once and for all. It was a compromise everyone could live with. As a result the divorce proceedings went quite smoothly and as it looked Larry and Helen could be free to marry by the end of the year or even sooner.

Isobel looked next to her and took Dickie's hand. "You've been so quiet," she said lowly. "Are you all right?"

He gave her a smile and squeezed her hand, "Of course. I was just wondering."

"About what?"

"Do you think it's wise idea for them to get married so quickly?" He nodded to the altar were Clarkson was standing near his best man and Reverend Travis, waiting for his bride.

Isobel shrugged, "I admit it's a bit quick, but why not… what do they have to lose?"

"I just hope, they're not deluding themselves," he said. "Or think they have to prove anything to us."

Isobel moved a little closer and said. "I think it did them well that we went on our trip to Egypt so soon after New Year. That way they could concentrate on each other instead of us."

Dickie chuckled, "In that case, I suggest we leave Downton again as soon as possible. Who knows what else happens when we are not around."

"Where do you want to go?" she asked when she realized he was serious about his suggestion.

"Violet mentioned a couple of friends of hers who invited her to the South of France. Why don't we join them?"

"I haven't been in France since the war," she reminisced. "And the Bretagne is barely the south."

"So, it's settled?"

Isobel looked at the other side of the church were Violet was sitting next to Robert and Cora. Dickie raised his hand and greeted her with a smile. "I have this feeling you and Violet have already settled everything," she said.

"Well, we've talked about it," Dickie admitted. "My guess is, she wants to make sure, you won't be away for too long, leaving her back on her own."

"Did she say that?" she asked astonished.

"Of course not. It's just my own interpretation of her motives."

"I see. How very observing of you."

The sound of the organ rose and so did the gathered guests.

"The next time we return home, hopefully another wedding will take place," Isobel whispered.

"You mean Helen and Larry? I guess they will marry sooner or later. I've been thinking about something my late Papa used to say about women and weddings when I argued with him about Annabelle."

"Well, what did he say?" Isobel wondered once they had settled down again.

"He said, never marry the first one you fall in love with, not even the second one, settle for number three, that way your heart can never rule your head."

Isobel crooked her eyebrow. "Sounds rather coldblooded to me."

"I thought so, too. Today I know he was right, but probably for other reasons than he thought were true."

Again she squeezed his hand and leaned a little closer. At the altar Travis cleared his throat and considered everyone present with one of his blatant looks.

"Dearly beloved…."

"I love you, too," Isobel mouthed at him and returned her attention to the couple at the altar.

 *******The End*******

 **So, let me know what you think. And who knows, maybe we'll meet Isobel, Dickie, and Violet again in the south of France one day... ;-)**


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